Sniper
by Westhaven18
Summary: Assassin Vincent Boudreaux has been raised from birth to kill Thieves. Unfortunately he's falling for one. And she's one of the best and most dangerous Thieves alive... did I mention she's an X-Man too? COMPLETED!
1. Chapter 1

**Alright, this is my first X-men evo fanfic so be gentle!!**

Sniper

Prologue

Belladonna Boudreaux sat at the bar stool and waved her glass drunkenly at the barkeeper. "Another, _monsieur_."

The man looked rather nervous. "I t'ink y'might've had too –"

"I'll tell ya when I've had too much. Now pour."

She was waiting.

He had said that he would be in town for another week or so, but knowing him he could have left this morning and never seen fit to tell her. That was actually just fine with her, or it would be. As soon as he finished what she had started. After all, she wanted the perfect assassin for this job.

And Wade Wilson, alias Deadpool, was the best killer she had been able to get her hands on.

Alright, so he was more than a little insane. He never could remember her name and said things she would never have tolerated a few years ago. But she needed him. And the sex was good, so what the hell.

It had all started that day, almost five years ago when she had gone to get married.

The daughter of the Assassin's guildmaster walking down the aisle to marry the younger son of the Thieves' guildmaster. She had planned it down to the last detail. The flowers, the cake, the music, the decorations, the dress… and the groom.

She didn't think she had ever met a man quite like Remy LeBeau. He was gorgeous, charming, sexy… alright, so his eyes were rather frightening but she could learn to ignore them.

And he had ruined everything.

That Thief bastard had killed her brother.

Julien was dead. Her wedding hadn't been over for more than six hours when she had been told that her husband had killed her brother.

But she still could have forgiven him. Oh yes, theirs was a love that could conquer anything.

Except… he never came back.

Her husband left New Orleans.

He left _her._

Had gone north, according to her sources.

Dropped off the map for a while.

And then he had suddenly returned. But he hadn't come back for her. Oh, no, the bastard had someone else.

Had _married_ someone else.

A skinny, featureless river rat from Mississippi. An ugly bitch with a white stripe through dark auburn hair with an even uglier name. Rogue. What the hell kind of name was that?

She had immediately ordered them to be killed – but every attempt on the bastard and his bitch's lives ended in disaster. It seemed that the freak had found another freak to marry.

It hurt far more than she cared to admit. Because she had _seen_ him with the bitch. He had never looked at _her_ that way. Had never brushed her hair from her eyes that tenderly. Had never called her _chere_ and _chérie _the way he called that bitch.

But the real blow had come about two months after those two had arrived in New Orleans. All of the Thieves were talking about it.

Pregnant. His bitch was pregnant.

The Prince of Thieves was going to have a child.

And the Assassin's Guild was heirless.

The night the news was reported to the Guildmaster, Marius had clutched his heart and gone into cardiac failure. By the end of the night, her father was dead and the title of Guildmaster had fallen to her. Belladonna the Guildmistress.

And that had been the final straw.

Remy LeBeau had taken everything from her. And he was going to pay.

The question had been: How?

The son of a bitch was a mutant – a powerful one – and so was his whore. None of the assassins in the guild were at all capable of anything this big. This would have to be a special job.

Belladonna had been slitting the throat of a low class mob boss when the idea had come to her.

"Ah! There you are, slut!" Deadpool shouted, waving a hand cheerfully as he strode through the bar, disrupting numerous cardgames as he came.

"_Bon nuit, monsieur,_" she purred, leaning forward a bit so that he had a clear view down her blouse. _"_Are y'ready for our… meetin'?"

Despite his mask, there was no doubt as to where he was looking. "Been ready all day. Just hope the girl writing this gives us our privacy."

Belladonna ignored this; Deadpool was insane and all she could hope for was that his dementia wasn't genetic.

Afterall, she needed his mutated sperm.

**************************

The crazy bastard was gone. Had left two weeks after he had originally said; she guessed her… company… had been nice enough for him.

It had been over a month since he had left but _her_ waiting had just begun. Every day, after breakfast, lunch, and dinner, she took a pregnancy test. She was rather nervous about this, Deadpool had let it slip once or twice - or maybe the son of a bitch had done it on purpose - that he hadn't actually been born a mutant. But by then it was too late; Gambit's bitch was already starting to show.

So she tested three times a day, hoping each time to see those precious two pink lines.

But it wasn't her lifetime supply of tests that informed her she was expecting an heir. It was the morning sickness that sent her running to the bathroom at the crack of dawn to vomit up her dinner from last night.

Even as she lifted her head from the porcelain bowl of the toilet a greedy smirk was spreading across her face.

"Ah've got plans for you, _cherie_," she whispered, rubbing her hand over her toned stomach. "Y'gonna be de best Assassin dis town's evah seen."

**Review please!!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Tell me what you think, don't forget to be gentle since this is my first X-Men evo fic!**

Chapter 1

_He was running down a side alley, his heart pounding desperately in his skinny chest. _

_They were right behind him – and getting closer every second. They would be on him soon and then he would be in for a world of pain._

_Gasping for breath, he made his way into the outskirts of the French Quarter, looking for a place to hide. There were five of them and only one of him. Six year old him against twelve year old them. _

Maman _was right, Vincent Boudreaux thought feverishly. The Thieves _were _evil. They were bad. Bad. Bad. _

_And he couldn't wait until he was big enough to fight them with his cousins._

_Then he'd make them pay._

_He'd make them all pay, he promised himself as he sprinted along the edge of a canal._

Vincent hated getting up early. The only thing that made it the slightest bit tolerable was the fact that if he finished up early and to the expectations of his mother he was given permission to run wild with his cousins and hunt down some Thieves.

It was fun. Especially when they actually managed to catch one. The sounds of the little bitch or bastard begging for mercy more than made up for his lost hours of sleep. And the sounds of their last moans before they fell unconscious… beautiful.

But today… man… it was just _too early_. But there was Marguerite, one of their maids, shaking him gently and whispering, "I's time to be gettin' up now, Mas'er Vincent. Yo' mama's callin' yeh."

"Alrahght…" he groaned, sitting up and waving the trembling Haitian maid away. "Ah'm up, Ah'm up."

He dressed himself by touch, unwilling to open his eyes and see the red light of the early morning sunlight pouring through his window.

"As early as Ah get up," he grumbled to himself. "Ah mahght as well attend school."

He left the room and ended up having to stop to take off his shirt and put it back on right side out. That wasn't a good omen.

Neither was seeing his mother sitting in the study at the crack of dawn in her huge leather swivel chair. Even worse, she was turned around to the back of the room, looking up at the portraits of his late grandfather Marius and late Uncle Julien.

Belladonna Boudreaux was on the warpath. Again.

"_Bonjour, Maman," _he said cautiously, hesitating at the door. Had she found out about the Thief girl they had lost?

She said nothing. Vincent bit back a moan and went to stand in front of the desk; he clasped his hands in front of him and waited for her to say something.

"Tell meh abou' yesterday."

He winced.

"There ain't much tah tell until early aftehnoon, ma'am. We ran into two _filles_ comin' outta a store on Ursuline. Alan said 'e recognized 'em as T'ieves so we start messin' wit' 'em."

His mother didn't comment.

He continued. "De oldeh one, she tol' her sistah to go home. Dat she'd deal wit' us. So _la petite_ ran. Jean-Paul wen' foh 'er, but da oldeh girl, she tackles 'im an' starts tauntin' us. By da time we realize what she's doin' _la petite's_ disappeared."

No comment.

Damn it.

"So we go afteh da oldeh one. Figure dere's seven o' us an' only one o' her. Bu' she's fast so we hang back a spell, waitin' for her to tire out.

"She took us down Royal Street, slipped down an alley an' lost us but we found 'er running down Bourbon. We finally corner her in dat opera house on Toulouse, yeh know… 's called –"

"Ah know what i's called."

He hurried on with his story. "We try ta corna her in da aisles but she's too quick, but we got all da doors blocked so she goes up on da roof. Ah think she was tryin' to jump to da next buildin', but all a' sudden da roof caves in unda' her. We c'd hear 'er screamin' an' den there was a big crash an' da rest o' the roof starts to go so we git off.

"It was pretty high, so a lot o' us thought she was dead."

"But y' didn't see a body."

"No, ma'am."

"Did y' look?"

"A little, but da cops were startin' ta show up so we left."

"Y'left."

Vincent knew he was in trouble even before his mother swung the chair around to look at him with deadly eyes.

"Was dis da girl?" His mother tossed several photos onto the desk.

Two grainy, but passable, photographs of a short, slender girl of about twelve lay on the polished mahogany. He picked one up.

The girl had auburn hair – not quite brown, not quite red, and not quite blond – all tied up hastily in a ponytail, a pretty delicate face, and the biggest green eyes he had ever seen.

"_Oui_," he muttered miserably. "Dat's her."

The look on his mother's face was now truly frightening. Her lovely features were contorted into an expression of intense hatred.

"Dat,_ garcon_," she hissed. "Is da _fille_ o' da Prince o' T'ieves. Dis is Gambit's daughter."

Vincent grabbed the photograph and immediately began to study the lines in the girl's face. Was he absolutely sure?

Yes. Without a doubt.

This was the girl.

He had actually met the daughter of one of their greatest enemies?

"When were dese taken?" he asked, looking at the fresh scrapes, cuts, and bruises that stretched across the girl's cheeks, neck, arms and shoulders.

"Dis mornin'. Da little princess goes to school earlier dan y'can get up."

The air seemed to get stuck in his lungs. "But… how is dat possible, _Maman? _She had to've dropped at least a hundred feet!"

"Da little _chienne _mus' be a freak like _sa père et mère._" His mother's blue eyes narrowed dangerously as she eyed the picture as though it depicted the most disgusting thing she had ever seen. Then her gaze flicked back to him. "As a' today y'r trainin' intensifies."

"_Maman?_ If she is a freak – if dey're all freaks – 'ow'm Ah s'posed to kill 'em?"

The gleam in the guildmistress' eyes was nothing short of fanatical. "'Cause y're Special, _mon amor_."

"What?"

"Y'll understand soon."

"But-"

"Enough. Leave."

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It wasn't until a month or so later that when Vincent Boudreaux was practicing his knife throwing that he realized what she had meant.

**OOOOOOOO! What could his powers be, I wonder?**

**Review please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright. Chapter 2!**

**Now please. I need feedback, so just drop a word or two. Like it, hate it...**

Chapter 2

_Four years later…_

_Bayville, New York…_

The world around the five figures had descended into chaos. There was fire everywhere and pieces of buildings were crashing down every few feet and seconds. This, counterpointed by the terrible screaming coming from everywhere, made the scene truly hellish.

"What's the plan, Cicero?" Talon demanded.

Cicero locked his jaw firmly. "We need to find out what caused all this and stop it."

Bijou bit her lip. "But, like, what about survivors?"

"There's nothing we can do for them now."

"Ah disagree," Kestrel said. "If y'c'n still hear 'em, it ain't too late."

"She is right," rumbled Atlas.

"Look! If we don't figure out what's happening, even more people could die! Now follow my lead!"

"Den lead, Golden Boy."

He scowled at his second in command, but took charge. "Okay, first things first. Kestrel, see if you find the thing that caused all this. In sixty seconds come find us – we'll be moving due west."

"Got it." She crouched slightly and then took off into the air, quickly vanishing in the dark smoke.

"Talon, on my right, Atlas, my left, Bijou, take the rear. I've got point. Let's go."

The group slowly but silently made their way to the west, keeping a steady watch for anything suspicious.

They had just reached the hollowed out remains of an old church when there was an explosion that literally rocked the ground. They dove for cover as a lean figure dropped onto the ground close by and ducked behind the roof of a demolished gas station.

It was Kestrel, her face smeared with soot, and she didn't look happy. "A Sentinel. Ah got less than forty feet away from it, and it started blastin'. Dere's gotta be an X-gene tracker in it. It's comin' fo' us. We got maybe twenty seconds."

Cicero cursed. A Sentinel was not something they were well equipped to handle. They would need Backlash or Blaze or Skyfire. Someone who could make something go boom. But there was no choice.

"Alright, here's the plan. Bijou, Atlas and I'll cause as much destruction as we can on the ground to get its attention. Kestrel, you take Talon up and let her down on the Sentinel's shoulder. Talon, think you can cut that thing's head off?"

The older woman popped a gleaming adamantium claw and nodded grimly. "I'll see what I can do."

"Did Ah mention da Sentinel's got a _mutant detector _and four cannons in its chest, not countin' the ones in 'is arms? It'll sense an' blast us all ta hell 'foh we can do much o' anythin'."

"Just do it, Kestrel."

She shook her head but swung into action, grabbing Talon's hands, and shot into the air like a rocket.

Instantly a bolt of red light appeared from the darkness and slammed into the two women. The Sentinel had arrived.

"Let's go!" Cicero yelled, darting forwards and pulling out a handful of explosives.

Bijou's blue uniform took on a shine as the young woman's body took on the texture, appearance, and hardness of diamond. She charged towards the foot of the giant robot and two long spikes of crystal grew from her arms over her hands. The diamond spears sliced through the metal shell of the Sentinel's foot like a steak knife through tinfoil.

Atlas' tactic was just as brutal and straightforward, he went straight for the leg that Bijou wasn't savaging, grabbed it, and proceeded to crush it in his huge hands.

Cicero, due to his lack of powers against a huge metal Sentinel, was reduced to darting around the thing's feet, hurling explosives freely.

The Sentinel was busily blasting away at the three mutants, droning "Multiple mutants detected. Eliminate," over and over again.

The thing stumbled as its legs were crippled – one nearly sliced in half and the other crushed like an aluminum can. Then, to everyone's horror, the Sentinel fell to its massive knees and started blasting away from its chest cannons.

"Get behind me!" Bijou shrieked.

The boys quickly obeyed, diving to get behind her skinny, gleaming legs. And then there was a huge glittering, diamond shield in front of them.

"We've gotta do something!" the girl cried as the red lasers mercilessly pounded on her barrier. "It's not going to hold up for long!"

There was a sudden, ear-wrenching sound of metal being crushed and then the unmistakable nails on chalkboard screech of metal being sliced apart. An earthshaking thud rattled their skulls.

The lasers abruptly shut off and for a moment, no one dared to move. Finally, Bijou – still in her diamond skin – peeked around her shield.

"Kestrel! Talon!"

There were the two women, both distinctly frazzled and singed, but completely alive and annoyed. Both were climbing down from the headless Sentinel, which now had a huge dent in its back.

"Ten points off, Cicero," Talon growled.

"What?!"

"You refused to even consider the possibility that you were wrong. You wouldn't listen to Kestrel – your own second in command's – opinion. An opinion that happened to be completely correct." The woman raised her voice. "End simulation!"

Instantly, the dark, mangled landscape melted away to reveal a cool metallic room.

Talon faced them all, her pretty face impassive. "Good thinking, Bijou. Atlas. Taking out the legs was a smart move, however, you forgot about the cannons. But a nice shield, Bijou, that's the strongest you've ever made.

"Kestrel," she turned to the tall young woman. "Nice bluff. If you'd followed Cicero's orders, we would have been killed.

"All in all, not a bad first training session for the year. Now get out of here and call the next team in."

"Um… weren't we the, like, last team?"

Eyes narrowed, the X-Man turned to look up at the observatory deck, "Is that right, Cyclops?"

"Yeah!" came the disembodied voice of the head X-Man.

"Wonderful," Talon sighed. "Get out of here, Team One. I want to start my own morning exercises."

**********************************

Team One exited the Danger Room in a flurry of angry, annoyed, and unconcerned talking.

"I knew what I was doing!" Cicero was complaining. "I had everything under control! Why'd she come down on me?"

"'Cause if Ah'd lissened ta y', dey'd a'been scrapin' us off da floor in da Danger Room," Kestrel scoffed as she dabbed at a shallow cut on her arm.

He growled as Kestrel and Bijou disappeared into the girls' locker room.

It took about thirty minutes for them all to emerge, and when they had, they had dwindled down from serious X-Men to normal looking high school students.

Soon Cicero, the leader of the first team of the next generation of X-Men, was now Charles Summers. A moderately tall and handsome young man, he was the son of Mr. Scott Summers and the late Dr. Jean Grey-Summers and had inherited his mother's power of telepathy. He had also inherited her green eyes, but nothing else. Just like Harry Potter, his girlfriend Alana Wagner often teased him. His dark brown hair, green eyes and polite disposition made him relatively popular with the opposite sex. With the exception of most of the girls who lived in the Institute.

They all thought he was a pain in the ass.

He had to do what he had to do; he was a leader.

Why didn't anyone understand that what he did he did for their own good? He wondered as he walked out to get breakfast.

Bijou had scrubbed away the grit of the Danger Room to reveal herself as Julia Alvers, a bubbly Chicago native with straight brown hair and big brown eyes. Her power was the ability to change her skin into living diamond which could then be grown out into shields and weapons. She was the eldest of Lance Alvers, a high school shop teacher, and Katherine Pryde, mayor of Chicago.

She was one of those who thought Charlie was an ass.

He was _such_ a know-it-all!

Atlas had changed back to Alexei Rasputin. He was the tallest student at the Institute and very quiet and gentle, which was very ironic considering that his power was enhanced strength. He had black hair and great dark eyes and his proud, strong features made him very much admired both at the Institute and at high school. He was the son of Piotr Rasputin and Anya Alklaev and was probably the sweetest guy in the building.

He kept his opinions to himself, though anyone who knew him well could tell he had a strong opinion of what had just happened.

Then there was Kestrel, who had taken off her uniform to become Noelle LeBeau, the tall and slender young daughter of Rogue and Remy LeBeau. Long wavy auburn bangs framed her lovely face, emphasizing large grey-green eyes, and the rest of her hair fell past her shoulders. A born and bred Southern magnolia, her powers included empathy, flight, and injury induced enhanced strength and invulnerability.

Her quick thinking, intelligence, and determination, which was often calculated recklessness, usually put her at loggerheads with all forms of authority, especially those she thought were idiots.

Namely Charlie Summers.

Together, the four teens walked through the sterile halls of the lower levels until they got to the elevator, Charles still lecturing and Noelle still shrugging him off.

"I had everything under control!"

"'Parently not," she said, rolling her eyes.

"That is enough," Alexei said firmly. "What is done, is done."

"What do you think?" Julia asked him quietly.

"Noelle is right. She usually is," answered the Russian.

"That's what I thought."

"I's too early fo' dis," Noelle groaned, running a hand through her hair. "Ah hope dere's somethin' good ta eat upstairs. _J'ai tres faim._"

"Is that all you care –"

"Ah don' care what y're sayin', dat's fo' sure," the Cajun said as the door to the elevator opened and she ducked inside, then turned to look him straight in the eye. "So y'wanna get in?"

Giving her a look that told her, quite clearly, to go to hell, Charlie stalked inside the elevator and refused to so much as glance at his rebellious second in command. "The Professor put _me_ in charge for a reason, you know."

"An' Ah'm still waitin' ta find out what dat reason is. So far, da only t'ing Ah c'n figure is dat da Professor wants _un imbecile _who's too hung up on himself ta admit when 'e's wrong."

Julia was reminded of the cartoons where smoke poured out of the aggravated party's ears.

Noelle, as usual, ignored it and turned her attention to Alexei. "_Alors, mon ami_, y'sistah still don' wanna come?"

Alexei hung his head sadly. "No. She did not even come home for the summer. She spent the last three months in the convent."

"Really? She didn't even call?"

"She did not call or even write. Mother is worried. So am I."

"Didn't she text?"

There was a moment of slightly exasperated silence at Julia's question.

"Sugah," Noelle groaned from where her face was pressed into her hand. "Sofya's in a _convent_. As in nuns an' crosses an' no cellphones."

"At all?!"

"What'd y't'ink dey did in convents? Played strip poker?"

"How should I know what they do in convents? I'm Jewish!"

There was a moment of silence until a loud guttural snarl issued from Alexei's stomach. At that, both the hungry young man and the two girls burst into laughter.

By the time the doors opened the three were gasping for breath and Charlie was scowling darkly at the wall.

"Lighten up, Golden Boy," chided Noelle. "If y'd get dat stick outta y'ass, if'd be easier ta take y'orders."

With those parting words of advice, the pretty young woman sauntered out of the elevator and made for the kitchen.

**And Team 1 is revealed! What do you think? Tell me please!!!**

**Oh, and "_alors, mon ami" _means "so my friend" just in case you were wondering. **

**Now REVIEW!!!!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Wipes sweat off her brow. Phew! Next chapter done!!**

**Now PLEASE! I know I'm just writing this for kicks, but I need to know I'm doing!!!**

**REVIEW!!!**

Chapter 3

Alana Wagner scowled at her newest opponent. His name was Jayden Daniels and he looked ready to pounce.

The two spent a moment gathering themselves, then dove…

Only to have Sarah Masters-Summers calmly reach over and take the box of pop tarts.

"Hey! Those were mine!" the two yelled at the same time.

"The key word in that statement is 'were'," retorted the girl.

Scowling, Alana sat back and allowed her boyfriend's cousin to claim her breakfast. The daughter of Kurt Wagner and Amanda Sefton, she had long obsidian black hair tied into a braid, big yellow eyes, blue skin and the ability to shape shift.

She also happened to be very hungry – but not hungry enough to challenge Sarah. The girl was the daughter of not only Alex Masters-Summers, but also the daughter of Laura Howlett, the former HYDRA assassin X23. Not someone to go messing with.

At least not before breakfast.

Meanwhile, the rest of the kitchen was full of people reaching for cereal, making themselves oatmeal, chewing on granola bars or, in the case of Mr. Logan leaning against the counter, gulping down coffee.

"Didja y'want some o' dese?" An unopened box of pop tarts was suddenly dangling in front of her face.

Glancing up, she found herself looking up at her cousin, Lucien LeBeau, one of the many heartthrobs of the institute. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and very handsome with wild auburn hair that was always in need of a trim falling into dark brown eyes. Ignoring the eyes, he was a dead ringer for his father Remy, though his temperament was closer to his mother's.

"Yeah, thanks Luke."

He shrugged carelessly. "_De rien._"

"Hey what about me?" Jayden demanded.

Lucien – or Luke, as everyone called him – shrugged. "Do I look lahke y'waiter? If y'wan somethin', go fight for it, _mon gar_."

"You got a box for Alana!"

Luke raised an eyebrow. "'S called chivalry, Jay. Now quit y'whinin' an' ask Sarah foh' one."

The younger boy shot a nervous look at the pretty girl sitting on the kitchen counter next to Mr. Logan tearing open the cardboard box to get to the treasures inside. "On second thought… I'm in the mood for Lucky Charms."

As he scrambled off to grab a bowl, Alana and Lucien traded smirks.

"Well, y'all look pretty smug 'bout somethin'." Noelle, Luke's younger sister, came striding into the kitchen and took a seat in the stool next to Alana's. "Tell it."

"Jayden's still scared of your roommate," Alana explained, pulling out a pop tart and breaking off a piece to put into her mouth.

Noelle shook her bangs out of her eyes. "He'd better get over it quick, dey're gonna be on the same team dis year."

"An' y'know that how?" her brother asked, claiming a stool for himself.

"Julie saw it when she was helpin' _Monsieur_ McCoy wit' his med records. An' you guys know how well she c'n keep a secret. Ah'm bettin' the whole school'll know by noon."

"Ah, school," Alana sighed. "I'm so glad that we don't start until next Monday! Five days until we have to deal with that insane Principal Kelly."

"What Ah wanna know is how dat idiot managed ta get 'is job back after dat fiasco when he was a senator," Luke wondered as he poured out two cups of coffee and handed one of them to his sister.

Noelle took it and reached into a cupboard, retrieving a bottle of Tabasco sauce.

"Dunno," she said with a graceful shrug, shaking a healthy amount of the spicy liquid into her mug. "Da school board must like him, 'cause they definitely don't like us."

"Noelle, luv!"

The three were abruptly interrupted by the appearance of James Allerdyce, the institute's resident fire bug. He was tall and gangly with a thatch of wild orange hair and great blue eyes and a huge crooked grin.

"What's up, Jimmy-luv?" Noelle asked, imitating his British accent expertly.

"Are you lot finished with the Tabasco? I want to spike the rest of the coffee before Charlie-boy gets in!"

"As fun as dat would be ta see, sugah," Noelle said. "I'm gonna have ta refuse. Alexei an' Julia are gonna want a cup. Y'don' wanna burn their tongues off, do ya?"

James pouted and muttered rebelliously. "Alright. Waste of good Tabasco sauce, that!"

****************************

All in all, it was shaping up to be a normal day in the Xavier Institute. Storm was in the greenhouse with her friend Laura Masters-Summers and Laura's young daughter Sarah tending the plants. Logan and Mr. Summers had summoned a number of young men from the students to help them check and change the brakes and oil of all the vehicles in the X-garage before said vehicles were taken out to deliver students to their respective public schools. This included Luke, Alexei, Charlie and several others. The younger children were playing in and around the pool under the watchful eyes of Noelle, Alana, Monica Worthington – daughter of Angel and Psylocke – and a handful of others, while Julia and the other older girls were sprawled out of lawn chairs sunning themselves or joining Beast as he reclined in a tree reading a book of Robert Frost poetry.

The only one _not_ relaxing was Professor Charles Xavier, founder of the school, legal guardian of many of the resident students, and godfather and namesake of Charles Summers. Hands clasped before him, elbows resting on his beautifully carved desk, he considered the telepathic presence nearing the house in a cab.

This could either be a very great problem or a very great opportunity.

Fingers pressing the controls of his wheelchair, he steered himself to the window to watch his students relax and play. Over the last twenty years, the amount of students attending his school had almost tripled. It seemed that more and more mutants were discovering their powers every day – and thus more schools designed for training mutants were opening as well.

The one in Massachusetts, run by an Emma Frost, had rather alarmed him at first, but after meeting with the headmistress he had been rather relieved. Though Miss Frost was not exactly endearing, she was perfectly equipped to teach and handle teenage mutants.

He himself was considering the possibility of opening up branch schools in other parts of the country to spread out the forces and reduce the amount of travelling that the students had to do.

But such thoughts could come later. After this newest development had been dealt with.

Sighing, Xavier left the window and made his way out of his office and downstairs, reaching out with his mind as he did so. _Ororo, Logan, Hank, Laura. Please join me at the front entrance. Bring Noelle, please. We have a guest._

In less than five minutes, the four teachers and student had joined him at the front doors.

"What's going on, Chuck?" Logan demanded with his usual tact. "You don't usually throw out the welcome wagon for just anyone."

The Professor leaned back in his wheelchair and sighed deeply. "Noelle, would you care to tell us about the situation in New Orleans concerning the Guilds?"

The pretty young woman blinked before answering easily enough. "Basically dere's a gang war goin' on back home. One family's the Assassins headed by Mam'selle Belladonna and da other is _mon père's_ family, da T'ieves Guild. Y'still followin'?"

"Yes. Please continue."

"Ain't much ta tell. Da Assassins an' T'ieves've been killin' each other since anybody c'n remember. Me an' my family don' get involved now, o'course, but we still gotta be careful. Lotta Assassins would be pretty damn happy to bring down anyone o'us.

"Why'd y'wanna know?"

Their conversation was abruptly cut off by the arrival of a cab cruising along the driveway and pulling in front of them. The vehicle stopped and a small stereotypical Middle Eastern man scrambled out and hustled around to the trunk. It was obvious from the way he kept glancing nervously at them that he knew exactly who and what they were.

And then the back door opened and a young man stepped out. He was tall, broad-shouldered and had the physique any man would envy and any woman would covet. His features were a bit more rugged than the average underwear model and his dark blond hair was expertly tousled around his face. Sapphire blue eyes gleamed in his tanned face.

Noelle didn't hesitate. She stepped right up to him and offered a delicate hand. "_Bonjour_, Vincent Boudreaux. Ah don' suppose y'remember me, do ya?"

The stranger outright stared at the polite Southerner, his handsome face surprised while his eyes flashed with disbelief and more than a little confusion and disgust.

It took a moment for him to answer. "_Oui_, 'course Ah know y', _belle femme_. Y'are Mam'selle Noelle LeBeau. Daughter o' the infamous Remy LeBeau and 'is lovely wife Rogue." He took her hand and bowed over it. "I's a pleasure. _Echante._"

**************************

Noelle left soon after introductions had gone around, heading to her room, her mind buzzing with what had just happened.

An Assassin, here.

And not just any Assassin, the heir to the Guildmistress! The goddamn Prince of Assassins!

What the hell was he doing here?! Okay, stupid question. She knew what he was here for.

_Monsieur_ Vincent Boudreaux was going to try and stick a knife in her and siblings' backs. Her fists clenched at the thought of her _petite soeur_ bleeding because of someone else.

The question was, what was she going to do about it? Judging from the way the Professor had spoken and acted, he was thinking about letting the Assassin stay. Ororo, Logan and Laura were flat against it, but Hank had good feelings toward him.

Surprisingly enough, Noelle did not hate the new arrival. This wasn't to say that if he hurt one of her kids or her friends or her family she wouldn't tear his head off, but she wasn't going to go out of her way to make him miserable. She held no grudge for the time he and his cousins had chased her up onto the roof of the old opera house where she had fallen through a rotten patch; how could she? That terrifying incident had been the day her powers manifested themselves. If anything, she was rather grateful to him.

Who knew?

Maybe it was his interference that had caused her mutation to manifest as flight. If that was so, she was eternally in his debt.

There was nothing better in the world than flying.

Except perhaps sex, but as she hadn't experienced both, she could only guess.

However, for all her gratitude, it did not change the fact that he had lied through his teeth to her and the teachers. He hadn't come there to hone his powers, he hadn't disobeyed his mother's wishes and turned his back on the gang war in New Orleans, and he most definitely had _not_ been pleased to meet her.

No one had ever slipped a lie past her – it was one of the perks of being such a powerful empath.

She reached the room she shared with Sarah Masters-Summers.

Inside, the walls were plastered with posters of the works of Monet, Renoir, and Degas, skylines of the famous cities of the world, football and soccer teams, and Japanese anime characters. There were plants lined up against the window, trailing ivy, and one lovely, graceful purple orchid.

She wandered over to her bed and flopped down on the dark green comforter, ignoring the pains from the recent acquisition on her lower back, and thought hard.

This had all the makings of a disaster waiting to happen. Logan wouldn't like this at all and even the notorious Wolverine's anger and suspicion would be nothing to that of her brother.

Lucien!

Oh shit.

***************************

Vincent had to fight a smirk. This was easy. One sob story on how he wanted to better himself, leave the war in New Orleans behind to 'become his own person', and those idiots had been eating out of his hands. Well, the old man had. He was going to have to work on the others. Nothing a little Southern charm wouldn't cure.

The only thing that had thrown a wrench in his oh-so-carefully laid plans was _her_. He had not been expecting to be confronted with one of his targets as soon as he had stepped out of his cab, but there she had been in cut-off jeans and a tank top riding up to show a toned stomach. It really was a shame that such a nice bit of flesh had been wasted on a Thief bitch.

Because she was beautiful. More beautiful than the neat photos his mother had provided had led him to believe.

What a shame.

And she had also known exactly who he was – _that_ was going to make it harder. She had almost seemed to be expecting him. Which was also going to make her a harder target.

"So, Mr. Boudreaux," the old man Xavier was saying. "At my school, we strive to help every student reach their greatest potential, both as members of society and as mutants. Here we will train you to not only use and control your powers but also to use them responsibly. You have the option of staying on as one of my X-Men or going on to live your own life. We do ask however that you receive a high school education – I do not ask for a perfect grade but I do ask that you try your best to make sufficient progress towards your diploma while you are here."

Okay, his mother hadn't warned him about this.

"Would I have to attend high school, den?"

The Professor nodded solemnly. "We offer some home-school classes if you feel you would not be ready to take high school classes. But it is your choice, Vincent. You must decide."

He ran this over in his head. That… girl and her family attended public school so it might be a good way to get closer to them. "Do I have ta give ya mah answer right away?"

"Well the school year starts this coming Monday. You must decide by then, alright? If you would like, I could have Dr. McCoy evaluate you as to where you should be placed. That way you would have an easier time making your decision."

Vincent made a great show of thinking this over, biting his lip and averting his eyes. Finally, he turned his eyes to the old fool. "I t'ink I c'n handle it, Monsieur. I'll start on Monday like da rest."

He felt a strange tickle at the back of his skull. _Nahce try, old man._

It took only the slightest effort to close his mind off from Xavier's mind probing and he immediately feigned a sudden headache, rubbing his temples. "Ow."

"Is anything the matter?"

_Gonna try an' play it off that way, huh? Pretend y'ain't pokin' at mah head? Fahne wit' me._

"Not'in' _Monsieur_. I just get dese real bad headaches once in a while. Ah t'ink it might be 'cause o' mah flight."

"Well then," the Professor said, coming out from behind his desk. "By all means, let us get you into your room. I hope you won't mind, but we've had to place you with another of our students."

Another unforeseen twist. "A roommate? Who is 'e?"

"His name is James Allerdyce. I think the two of you will get along very well. Your room is on the second floor to the left. Would you like to find it on your own or shall I have someone lead you to it?"

"_Merci, mais_ I t'ink I c'n find it on mah own."

"Very well."

The two shook hands and Vincent left the office.

He had to admit – this house was far nicer than he had ever imagined. The walls were paneled in polished wood or painted with rich colors, and hung with paintings. He spotted what looked like an original Monet, but did not stop to examine it.

Walking through a nicely carved archway, he found himself in what looked rather like a ballroom, if you ignored the toys and beanbags scattered over the gorgeous marble floors. One wall of the enormous room was devoted entirely to windows and on either end of the room was a huge fireplace.

_Very nice_.

But a sudden influx of talking and laughing distracted him and he directed his attention to a doorway. A group of guys his own age were emerging from it, each covered with liberal amounts of motor oil.

Then they caught sight of him and Vincent's eyes were drawn to one guy in particular. Tanned, as tall as he was, brown eyes rapidly narrowing into dangerous slits…

"_YOU!"_ Vincent Boudreaux and Lucien LeBeau howled, lunging for the other.

**Thief vs Assassin. How's this going to turn out?**

**You tell me!!**

**Review!!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Alrighty, it was brought to my attention that all these names could seriously confuse some of my loyal readers, and so I offer you this list to help with the reading experience.**

**[Deadpool + Belladonna] Vincent "Sniper" Boudreaux – 17**

**[Gambit + Rogue] Noelle "Kestrel" LeBeau – 16 **

**[Gambit + Rogue] Lucien "Backlash" LeBeau – 18 **

**[Cyclops + Jean Grey] Charles "Cicero" Summers – 17**

**[Pyro + Scarlet Witch] James "Blayze" Allerdyce – 17**

**[Avalanche + Shadowcat] Julia "Bijou" Alvers – 15 **

**[Gambit + Rogue] Claire LeBeau – 12 **

**[Nightcrawler + Amanda Sefton] Alana "Sprite" Wagner – 16**

**[Colossus] Alexei "Atlas" Rasputin – 18**

**[Colossus] Vassily "Red Star" Rasputin – 15**

**[Angel + Psylocke] Monica "Madonna" Worthington – 16**

**[Havok + X23] Sarah "Wildcat" Masters-Summers – 14 **

**[Spyke] Jayden "Reaper" Daniels – 15 **

Chapter 4

Vincent could not believe his luck. Less than one hour into his stay at the Xavier Institute, he had been given a chance to dispatch one of his targets.

He thrust a hand into his pocket and drew out his best knife.

The two hit each other viciously. Vincent slashed fiercely at his opponent's throat, but was neatly thrown off by a powerful smash to his sternum. Staggering back, he managed to plant his foot against the hard marble, reverse his momentum and readied his knife for a neat throat slit.

As his knife began to fall, the young Assassin noticed the sudden change in his enemy's shoulders and realized too late what was happening. Though he managed to keep Thief's shoulder from breaking his arm, he was unable to move fast enough to keep the target from grabbing his arm and getting behind him.

Vincent dropped to his knees, throwing the other over his shoulder. There was shouting all around him, but no one seemed to want to get close to the two fighters. They hit the ground with a thud and rolled away to face each other.

It was time to show everyone why they called him Sniper.

_Whack_

An impact caught him in the stomach and knocked him completely over before he could ever even throw his blade.

Snapping his eyes open, he found himself flat on his back looking up at the Thief girl. She was standing over him, holding two short staffs out in either hand. One was pressed gently against his throat, promising pain if he even dared to struggle. The other was tucked under her brother's chin as he lay half sprawled on the ground. The guy looked as shocked as he felt.

"'Dat's enough, both o'y!" she snarled, her lovely face dark with fury. "What da hell're y'all t'inkin', fightin' in here lahke a couple o' idiots?!"

"Noelle, _petite_," began her brother, trying to push away the staff at his throat. "'Y'don' understand. Dat's –"

"_Je comprends parfaitement!_" she snapped, jabbing him a little harder with her weapon. "'Dis _garcon_ here is da Institute's newest student, Lucien. So get y'ass off da floor an' shake hands wit' _Monsieur_ Vincent Boudreaux."

"But –"

Her voice dropped to dangerous levels. "Unless y' want _Tante_ Mattie and Mama ta find out who it was who killed der roses, y'd betta move."

Lucien scowled at his sister, but obeyed.

Flipping her newly freed staff, the young woman flipped it several times in her hand before turning on Vincent.

"An' jus' what did y't'ink y' were doin' pullin' a knife in a fight here? Put dat away!"

"Easy there, Mouse," barked Logan, the short, hairy man he had met only a little while ago.

The girl's clear green eyes didn't leave his even as she removed the gleaming staff from his throat.

Vincent had to fight the urge to spit into that stupid face.

******************************

"This is so exciting!" James Allerdyce was exclaiming fifteen minutes later as he dragged Vincent up the stairs. "I haven't had a roommate since that bloke from Detroit moved upstairs last summer! Something about being safer up there."

Vincent was not in a mood to be very cheerful. That Logan bastard had given him an extra Danger Room session, and though he had no idea what that was, anything that had the words 'danger' and 'five in the morning' couldn't be anything good.

The Thief boy had been sentenced to the same thing, so at least that Logan wasn't biased.

The last he had seen of the two Thieves was the girl hauling her brother away, still calling him an idiot. He had been about to follow them when a gangly young man with a pronounced British accent hit him energetically on the back and introduced himself as his new roommate.

"You're gonna like it here, mate! The only downer is we have to go to bloody _school_, and the Danger Room sessions!"

They had reached the top of the stairs and James led him to the right.

"What're Danger Room sessions?" Vincent asked, keeping track of where they were going.

Down all the way to the end of the hall and turn left. The last door on the right.

"They're kinda like an hour long boot camp descent into hell."

Vincent chuckled.

"At least, that's what Lucien says."

His laughter died instantly. "Really."

"Really! This's our room."

He pushed open the door and his companion looked over his new accommodations. It was small considering his room back home in New Orleans – good thing he wasn't staying long – but it was plenty big enough for two teenage guys. Two beds were set on opposing sides of the room, one to his right and the other to his left as he stood in the doorway. One desk was against the far wall and another on the closest. Two wardrobes and bureaus were shoved into the remaining wall space.

Not too bad.

One side of the room – James' side, presumably – was plastered over with posters of soccer teams and fire. A picture stood on his desk of a family standing around on the weirdoes in the big black hats and red uniforms who guarded the English castles in London, making fun of them.

"Y' English?"

"Kind of. Me dad's Australian, but he ain't allowed back there. Something about burning down the president's house. And me mum's from here originally but she made Dad move us all to London when I was just a kid. Said she liked the city.

"You're Cajun, right?"

"_Oui._"

"Thought so, you talk just like Luke and his sisters. Oh yeah," he pointed to a closed door across from his bed. "That's the loo. We share it with Luke and Alexei. This week's their turn to clean it out so we don't have to do it 'til next week."

Vincent did not plan on staying that long. "C'n I see?"

"Go ahead!" his new roommate said, waving an arm as he turned around to straighten out a line of immaculate Zippo lighters.

Tossing his backpack onto the bare bed that was to be his, the young man entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. There was nothing really special about it, except there did seem to be a bit of scarring across the mirror's face, almost as though someone had tried to burn it. Otherwise, the toilet, sink and tub with four shelves for each of the inhabitants seemed perfectly normal.

Quickly, Vincent opened the second door in the bathroom. The one that opened into the Thief's bedroom.

And was abruptly yanked inside.

He found himself pinned against the closed door and a staff was pressing viciously against his Adam's apple. He couldn't move.

"Damn T'ief!" he snarled, trying to struggle, only to be rewarded with a sharp push of the staff.

"Lissen very carefully ta what I'm about ta tell ya, _garcon_," hissed the Thief boy. "'Cause I'm only goin' ta say dis once. Mah _petite soeur_ tells me dat y'don' mean no harm. Y'just wan' a normal life. All t'ree o' us knows dat's a load o' bullshit, but Noelle's willin' ta give y' da benefit o' the doubt. So I ain't gonna kill y'. I'm jus' gonna warn y'."

The staff at his throat momentarily cut off his breath.

"Y' put a hand on mah sisters. One hand. Hurt 'em at all. An' I swear on da Holy Mother an' mah word as a T'ief dat I will end y'. Do we 'ave an _accord_, Assassin?"

Vincent growled, but nodded. "_D'accord._"

The pressure at his neck instantly relaxed and Vincent had to brace himself against the door to keep himself on his feet.

"Good. Now get outta here. Dinner'll be ready soon."

It took a few minutes for the young Assassin to obey the command, long enough to note the simple layout of the room (which was exactly like the one he was sharing with James), the bedspreads and their simple dark colors, and the obligatory Saints poster over the bed with the dark red comforter.

_He's goin' first_, Vincent decided. _Lessee how tough _Monsieur LeBeau _is when dere's a nice big smile carved onto his throat._

********************************

Dinner was taken in a magnificent room with a table of polished mahogany big enough to seat two dozen people. It was being set by several small children with utensils, cups, plates, and napkins. As soon as he and James entered, one of the smaller girls with the head scarf of a Muslim girl threw down the place mats she held and flung herself at James' knees.

"Jimmy!" she squealed. "Where have you been? You said you would come and see me! Saya!!! Jimmy's here!"

A tiny girl came sliding out of what Vincent assumed to be the kitchen and whooped in joy. "Jimmy-kun!"

James nearly fell over as this new arrival too bulled fiercely into his legs. "Hiya, girls. Vincent, these're my baby sisters. Fatima" – the little girl with the head scarf ducked behind him – "and Saya." The second girl grinned up at him.

Vincent looked from Fatima's distinctly Middle-Eastern face to Saya's Japanese one. "Sisters?"

"Well… adopted. Mum an' Dad adopted Timmi this summer and Saya three before that."

"Dey adopted mutants?" he didn't mean to sound so incredulous, but that _was_ unusual.

James looked confused. "Why not? They're mutants as well."

Okay, that made more sense.

He looked down at his roommate's younger sisters and smiled. "_Echante_, _petites Mademoiselles."_

Saya giggled. "You're the one who fought with Luke, huh?"

_That_ surprised him. "Who told you that?"

"Claire. She's my roommate."

"Did Ah hear mah name?"

A short, slender girl with a heart-shaped face framed by stark white streaks that cut through otherwise dark auburn hair appeared at Saya's shoulder.

Vincent froze.

She looked up at him, and the smile on her face and in her grey-green eyes fell with simultaneous crashes. "Vincent Boudreaux."

"Claire LeBeau."

The smaller girl turned to her friend. "C'mon Saya, Sarah an' Mam'selle Munroe'll get angry if dey t'ink we ditched." She grabbed her friend's arm and dragged the complaining Japanese girl away.

James laughed. "You're having an interesting effect on the resident Thieves, mate! First you get Lucien to attack you, and now Claire's running away from you. Wonder what Noelle's going to do."

"She's goin' ta ya both ta stop standin' around an' make y'selves useful."

The older Thief girl was behind them. "C'mon boys, y'all know how ta set a table, don't ya?"

She tossed a handful of utensils at each of them, keeping a stack of plates for herself. "Get to it, _mes amis_."

Biting his tongue to keep himself from leaping on her, Vincent did as he was told.

In no time at all, the table was set and the food had been brought in: a heaping pile of spaghetti noodles and two huge bowls of meat sauce and tomato sauce. Then there was corn, green beans and carrots, and several long loaves of soft, fragrant garlic bread.

When the table was practically groaning with the weight of all the food, the people started pouring in. Vincent soon found himself scrambling to remember names.

The blue girl was Alana Wagner, the tall leggy blonde was Monica Worthington, the tall guy with red shades was the instructor Scott Summers, the short brunette was Sarah Masters-Summers, the two huge Russians were Alexei Rasputin and his younger brother Vassily, the Japanese girl with the black bird's wings was Sayuri Matsumoto, the skinny black kid was Jayden Daniels, the big black guy was Denzel Hawkins…

And on and on and on.

Even when all of the chairs were full of students, there was a smaller table off to the side that was used by the younger students who were being supervised by the Thief girl and the tall beautiful woman called Storm.

"Good evening everyone," Professor Xavier said from his seat at the head of the table. "Before we begin dinner, I'd like to introduce our newest student, Vincent Boudreaux. If you would stand, Vincent."

Vincent obeyed and gave a good-natured nod and a charming smile at the assembly. "_Echante, mes amis_."

"I expect you all do your best to make him feel welcome," the Professor's eyes drifted over to the Thief boy's chair.

"Now! Let us give thanks for this meal and hope that it gives us the nourishment we need for the rest of the day."

There was a smattering of 'Amen' and other soft mutterings from the students – he watched as the Thieves crossed themselves – and then everyone grabbed the dishes and began serving themselves.

He served himself a helping of spaghetti, green beans and a slice of bread.

"MMM! Did you make this, Claire?" asked a button nosed blonde, waving a piece of the garlic bread.

"Mm-hm," answered the smaller girl around a mouthful of spaFghetti.

"Mah little sisters're shapin' up ta be da best cooks ta come outta N'Awlins," Target One said proudly before biting into his own piece of bread.

With a concealed gag, Vincent slipped his piece of bread onto James' plate. No way was he eating anything one of _them_ had made.

A feeling of being watched made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he looked around to see the older Thief girl watching him thoughtfully. When she noticed that he would realized he was being watched, she looked him straight in the eye and gave him a cool smirk.

Maybe he had jumped the gun on this assignment. Maybe she should go first.

**Damn. I am truly creating a monster. **

**Anyways, REVIEW!!!!!**


	6. Chapter 6

**La-di-dah!**

**Here you go!**

Chapter 5

Noelle sat on her bed, headphones in as she read her latest book. It was a rather disturbing piece of literature by a Miss Robin McKinley, called _Deerskin_, but as strange and surreal as it seemed it was interesting and she couldn't put it down.

Across the room, Sarah Masters-Summers was busily typing away at her computer.

It was a relief to have such a quiet and respectful roommate; her mother had told her about sharing a room with Mrs. Alvers and how Julia was a younger version of her mother. And as much Noelle loved the cheerful young girl, having to live with her in such close quarters was not her idea of fun. Besides, she knew perfectly well how much Julie loved having her own private room. More room for her clothes.

"So what's with you and the new guy?"

Another thing she liked about her roommate. Sarah didn't pussyfoot around – if she wanted to know something, she would ask outright.

Noelle liked that.

"Back where Ah come from, ma family an' his don' git along so well."

Sarah was silent for a moment, processing this for a moment before asking, "Does he hate you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

That was not as easy to answer. "Ah suppose it's 'cause he was taught to."

"Were you taught to hate him?"

"_Non_. Ah ain't a part o' da war dat's between our families. Ah don't wanna hurt him, but if he makes me… Ah'll make him regret it."

This seemed to satisfy Sarah and she nodded and turned back to her computer, typing madly.

Noelle went back to her book and had just gotten a particularly intriguing part when there was a frantic knocking on the door.

"They're early," Sarah grumbled, scowling at the door.

"Go back ta y' typin', _petite_," the taller of the two commanded easily, sliding off the bed to see who it was.

Or rather, to let them in as she already knew who it was.

She opened the door to see ten small, eager faces.

"_Salut, mes petites._" She waved them inside and closed the door behind them.

Noelle LeBeau was in the student in charge of looking after the younger students of the Institute, every child under the age of ten was under her and Ororo Munroe's care. It had been shoved on her after she had managed to get a semi-catatonic little girl from Wisconsin to speak and agree to therapy sessions with the Professor two years ago. Noelle personally didn't know what the big deal had been, all she had done was listen to what Alison had been trying to say. The tiny little thing hadn't wanted someone to beg her to speak or try to fix her, she had wanted someone to look after and love her. Any idiot should have been able to do it.

Not that she hated her job; on the contrary, she very much enjoyed it. The house would be falling apart without her – as they had all found out when Charlie Summers had tried to take her place last year and discovered that keeping a rein on ten mutant children was not nearly as easy as she and Storm made it look.

"You said you would tell us a story, Noelle," murmured Dawn Summers, the daughter of Scott Summers and his late wife Jean Grey. She never spoke louder than a whisper.

"Yeah!" Jacob Alvers, Julia's younger brother shouted. "I want one with a dragon!"

"No way!" snapped his older sister Christina. "One with a princess!"

The others immediately began to argue. Jeffery, a new arrival for this year, asking for one with a firefighter, Lisa begging for one with fairies, and Tom and Anthony begging for her to tell a scary story. Alison, Brianna and Fatima said nothing at all, merely clutched teddy bears and waited.

Noelle sat on the end of her bed and watched as the children settled, still bickering. "Ah can' tell ya anythin' if y' keep arguin' lahke dis."

Silence immediately fell.

"We gon' do somethin' different t'nahght. I'm gon' read y' somethin' and we finish one chapter a naght if y' like it. _D'accord?_"

There was vigorous nodding and Noelle retrieved the book from her desk. "_The Twits_ by Roald Dahl."

********************************

Vincent prowled down the hall, searching for where the Thief girls slept. He had gotten it out of James – with little difficulty, the guy was a chatterbox – that the eldest girl roomed with the silent, serious looking Sarah Masters-Summers and the younger roomed with Saya and Sayuri, the little Japanese girl with wings.

He knew that the second floor of the building was basically a low, flat H shape, with mostly students on both sides and instructors' rooms in the middle. The third floor was the middle bar of the H had had only nine bedrooms whereas the second floor had eighteen rooms. He also knew that almost every room was filled except for one on the third floor.

However, all this did not give him any clue as to where his targets slept.

"Where're you sneakin' off to, bub?"

It was the short man, Logan again.

Vincent shrugged innocently. "Jus' takin' a look around."

"Kinda late for a nighttime stroll."

"I's only eleven, _Monsieur_."

At these words, all traces of civility fell away from the other man and he openly snarled and clenched his fists. "Stay away from the kids, Knife-boy. They're worth more than you could imagine around here."

"Ah'll keep dat in mind. Now, c'n Ah get back t' mah walk?"

For a moment, he thought the man was going to attack him, but he managed to get himself under control and stalked away.

Smirking, the young Assassin continued his stroll. Tempting danger had always given him immense pleasure – something that had pissed his mother off to no end. But there was something about facing blood and death and spitting it all in the eye that made his blood race deliciously.

But back to the task at hand. Most of the doors were closed and even when he tried to listen at each door, he couldn't hear anything. The rooms seemed to be empty.

All at once, there was a sudden scream and suddenly sprinklers sprayed all along the ceiling. An unseen door on the far end of the hall slammed and a tiny human-form made entirely of flame came charging down the hall, screaming much like a child would. There was an eruption of yelling from somewhere down the hall.

A long lithe form came sprinting around the corner from where the little fire person had come from. He recognized the elder Thief girl immediately and watched in awe as she easily outran the tiny pyro and grabbed the fiery creature in her bare arms.

Her eyes found his and she barked out. "Go find James! _Vite!_"

His hand immediately went to his knife as he stared at the target kneeling on the ground, her clothes on fire as she restrained the screaming fireball. She was distracted… it would be so easy. He could throw the knife and say that he had panicked and thrown it at the fire-thing and the girl had just gotten in the way.

"Fatima, _ma petite Cherie_," the target was shouting over the little fire-thing's screaming. "I's alraght, sugah! Jus' a dream!"

Fatima? As in the little girl he had met at dinner? His knife hand faltered.

"Damn it," she hissed, her eyes on him again. "Get James!"

"Noelle, I can't stop!" shrieked the little thing in terror. "They won't go away! They won't listen to me!"

The target tightened her grip flaming girl and her brow wrinkled slightly in concentration. "Relax, _ma Cherie._"

The flames went out in a whoosh and quite suddenly the Thief girl (most of her clothes ash) was kneeling on the ground and was holding a completely naked, dazed, little girl. Vincent's arm dropped to his side in shock.

What the hell?

"Didja dazzle me, Noelle?" asked the tiny thing, her voice badly slurred.

Standing up, the target cradled the girl gently. "_Oui_, Fatima. Y'r fire was runnin' on y'panic. Now, y' jus' relax an' Ah'll get Jimmy foh yeh. Y' like dat?"

"Wanna sleep with you…"

Vincent watched all this in bewilderment.

"Let's get y' cleaned up an' talk t' y' brother first."

She gave him a withering look. "What're y' still doin' here, _garcon_? Didn' I tell y' ta go an' find James? Move y' ass!"

Later he would wonder why the hell he had obeyed her, but at that moment, the sight of the helpless little girl cradled in the mess of ashes made his legs move towards the stairs and go springing down the stairs.

It took entirely too long to find the rec room and get James away from the movie everyone was watching, thankfully as soon as he managed to spit out the words, "Fatima", "wrong", and "danger" the Brit leapt up and practically ran him over to get to the stairs.

When they made it up the stairs, Vincent fell behind to follow James. With any luck, the idiot would bring him straight to the target. Maybe he could get her alone after this… surely she would be weaker now with all those burns on her arms. She had been holding that girl Fatima in her bare arms as the little girl burned heedlessly; her clothes had been reduced to ash, she had to have some injuries.

His hand patted his knife to make sure it was still there.

He had promised himself that his _Oncle Julian_'s knife was going to taste Thief blood before the year was out.

The only problem was doing it in such a way that he could get away after. After watching the way the teachers and other students acted around the three, it was obvious that no one would take kindly to them being killed. And after seeing what the target had done for that girl without even thinking…

No. No target is human. No target is anything else than a bullseye.

James led him to the right, all the way down the hall. He flung open the door, and was immediately confronted by a short, slender young girl with bone claws coming out of her knuckles. Vincent jerked out his knife again.

The girl visibly calmed when she saw James, but tensed when she saw Vincent. And the gleaming knife in his hand made her claws come up.

"She asked me to look after them all until they fell asleep," she growled, eyes on the Assassin. "She and Fatima are in the next room. Now get out so they can get back to sleep."

It was only then that Vincent noticed the five little girls staring at them from their beds. Seeing where he was looking, the girl pushed the two both out of the room and shut the door firmly behind them.

"Y'don't have to come with me, mate," James said over his shoulder as he made his way to the last door in the hall. "It's my sister, after all. And you're going to need all the sleep you can bloody well get with an extra Danger Room session tomorrow!"

Vincent shook his head. He had a bit of a plan in his head. If he could off the girls tonight, then he could deal with their brother during the Danger Room session, whatever that was. Three throws of a knife and it would be all over.

James knocked on a door and was quickly rewarded by an exhausted sounding, "Come in."

The room revealed was slightly bigger than the one he was currently sharing with James, but the thing that caught his attention was the young woman sitting on the bed, a fresh tank top and a light line of mild-looking burns along her arms and one pink mark along one cheek. There was a fair amount of her hair that had been burned and the smell of it wafted around her, a terrible pungent odor.

"Noelle-luv! How's Timmi?"

Fatima was lying on the target's bed in an overlarge Saints football jersey, fast asleep.

"She alright," the Thief girl assured him. "Jus' a bad dream. She'll feel betta in da mornin'. But y'should talk ta her. See what's goin' on."

"We can –"

"No blowing anythin' up, _mon ami_," the target said sternly. "Talk ta y'sistah. If she's still havin' nightmares about burnin' her family's house down, blowin' shit up ain't gonna help."

James' pout vanished and nervousness appeared. "But I can't talk to her, Noelle! What am I supposed to say?"

A lazy little smirk twitched at the girl's lips. "Depends on what she says first. Don' worry. Y'll know what to say.

"Now git da hell outta mah room. An' tell Sarah dat she can come back inside."

Chuckling, James nodded and grabbed Vincent's arm. "Thanks, Noelle. I'll come get her in the morning, right?"

"_D'accord._ Oh, and Assassin-boy?"

Holding back from throwing his knife at the aggravating little bitch, he turned to look at her. "_Quoi_?"

"Good luck in da Danger Room. If y' lucky, Logan'll let y' leave wit' all y' skin still on y' body."

Her smirk was wicked as she closed the door on both of them. "Nighty-night boys."

That settled it. She was going first.

Later that night when he tried her door, it was locked and barred.

Damn Thieves.

**Review please!!!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay. Seriously. I know you guys aren't reviewing when you read!**

**C'mon! Just one quick moment of your time to say whether I suck or not!!!**

**Anyways, thanks to my awesome friend, Goldenasian and my awesome Beta Reader!**

**Here's:**

Chapter 6

_He sprinted alongside the edge of the canal, a stitch throbbing in his chest. _

"_Run, run little boy!" laughed one of them. "We catch you eventually. You can't outrun all o' us."_

_He wished that he had enough breath in his lungs to shout something back, but he had to settle for throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. They were almost on top of him – ouch!_

_His ankle twisted sharply and he found himself toppling over into the dark water of the canal, swollen from the last thunderstorm. The current was so strong it pulled him under and threw him against the concrete walls. _

_He could hear his heart pounding. _

_Thump._

_Thump. Thump._

_There was darkness overtaking his vision. _

_He didn't know which way was up. _

_He needed air _now_._

_His heart was thumping louder and faster than ever._

_Air! Air! His every cell screamed and he opened his mouth and –_

Sat up sharply in bed, gasping and sweating. It took him a moment to remember what was going on.

He wasn't six years old and he wasn't running away from a gang of Thieves. He was seventeen years old and was on the mission that would earn him his Master Assassin's mark and regain his mother's honor. He was here to get revenge on the mutant Thief Gambit by killing his three kids. He was here in the Institute. In the room that he was sharing with James Allerdyce.

And there was someone trying to break down their door.

"Reckon it's for you, mate," James mumbled from under his blanket. "Be a pal, and open the bloody door before whoever it is dents it."

So Vincent fell out of bed and stumbled over to the door.

It was the Thief boy, dressed in a slick uniform of burgundy and black leather.

"Y'comin' o' what?"

Vincent looked at his enemy's uniform dubiously. "What da hell is dat supposed to be?"

A dangerous grin spread across the Thief's face. "Mah uniform. Don' worry 'Ssassin. Y' get one, too."

Vincent laughed in his face. "Ah wouldn't be caught dead in dat."

"Suit y'self. Git y'self dressed so we c'n go."

He threw on a pair of jeans and T-shirt and tugged on his combat boots. Tugging the laces tight, he pulled the legs of his jeans over the tops of the boots and he was ready. "Ready. Lead da way, T'ief."

The target led him to a stretch of wood paneled wall that opened with immediately to reveal a sterile, metallic elevator. Getting in, Vincent and the target stood shoulder to shoulder, tensed and ready for attacks.

The relief was palpable when the doors opened onto a hall as clean and cold as the elevator.

"_Alors venez_," the Thief said, going right and leading him down a dizzying number of corridors until they came to a circular room with lockers neatly lined up along the walls.

"Last chance ta get a uniform."

"Ah don' need one."

"Yeah," growled a low voice. "You do."

It was Logan. The man was dressed in black and yellow combat leathers that made the target's uniform look stylish. "Everyone going into the Danger Room has on a uniform, 'less I say otherwise. And I say you're wearing a uniform. So get moving."

Snarling under his breath, Vincent allowed himself to be presented with a navy uniform with a horrible garish yellow trim. At least the ridiculous outfit had deep pockets in which to put his knife.

"Alright, Knife-boy," Logan said. "Now that we're all dressed in our party clothes I gotta coupla questions for ya. What're your powers?"

Vincent shifted unhappily, but decided a sign of good faith might help get their guard down. "Back home, dey called meh Sniper 'cause Ah never missed. Didn't matter what it was, darts, knives, bullets… Ah just looked at what Ah wanted ta hit an' it was like Ah could feel da molecules in whatever I was throwin' o' firin' and da molecules o' what Ah was aimin' at.

"Lahke," he took his knife from his pocket and concentrated. Instantly, his view of the world shifted. "Ah c'n feel the molecules o' dis knife. 'S like da whole t'ing's rattlin' in mah hand. Now, if Ah was to concentrate on somethin' else. Say," his blue eyes found the brown eyes of his enemy. Assassin versus Thief. "_Monsieur Lucien's_ heart. I'd just focus on his heart until Ah could feel the molecules and then Ah'd throw mah knife. The molecules o' mah knife'd be drawn ta his heart. An' unless it was destroyed or something got in its way, mah knife would hit _Monsieur Lucien's_ heart."

"Good to know," Logan growled. "Anything else we should know about?"

He shrugged. "An' Ah c'n heal pretty good."

"How good is pretty good?"

"Neva tested it. But when Ah broke mah leg coupla years ago, Ah healed in a week."

"Hmmmm… well, in that case we start on an average skill level. I'm guessing that the Assassins would make sure their little Prince was well-trained."

"Y' guess right."

"In that case, we'll start on one of the higher levels. Just make it through the obstacle course. Oh yeah, and here you call me Wolverine and Cajun over there is Backlash.

"Let's get to it."

****************************

Noelle was awoken at around eight in the morning by someone tugging at her sleeve. Raising herself up onto her elbows to wince at the light streaming through the windows, she squinted at the dark face of her young charge Fatima. "Wha izzit, _petite_?"

The little girl hid her face in her hands. "Can I have something to wear before I leave the room?"

Groaning, she levered herself out of bed and stumbled over to the bottom drawer in her desk. Inside was a stack of clothes for just such an occasion, though it took a bit of digging to find Fatima's outfit. It was a simple set of long cream colored cotton slacks, a long sleeved green tunic with yellow embroidery, and a green and gold head scarf.

Fatima seized them happily and wriggled into the new clothes and tried to put her head scarf over her messy hair.

"Whoa dere, sugah." A somewhat more coherent Noelle stopped her. "Do dat an' y'hair'll get so tangled Ah'll have ta cut it all off."

Just as the older girl was dragging a brush through child's thick dark brown hair, the door opened and Sarah came in, panting slightly and her skin shiny with sweat.

"Jus' finished wit' y'run?"

"Yes. You just got up?"

"Define jus' got up."

"Never mind. Good morning, Fatima."

"Assalamu alaikum."

Sarah stopped in the middle of gathering up a fresh change of clothes. "I beg your pardon?"

"Means somet'in' lahke "peace be wit' y'," Noelle offered, working out a stubborn tangle.

"Oh. And also with you, Fatima. Noelle, do you need the shower?"

"Nah, used it last night after Ah cut mah hair."

Her roommate's eyes darted to the freshly cut ends of her hair. She'd had to shear about three inches away, but there had been enough left to do it stylishly and emphasize her grey-green eyes and graceful cheekbones. "Why'd you cut it?"

"It got a little burned las' night. An' Ah was due for a trim anyways."

Fatima whipped around and stared at her beloved caretaker. "I burned you, Noelle?"

"Jus' a little, an' it was all split ends, anyways. Don' worry about it, _petite._ Now come on, y'wanna look y' best foh _ton frère_, _n'est pas_? He'll be here soon." She gave the girl a gentle hug to head off the growing guilt she could feel rising up inside the small body.

Sarah nodded and retreated into the bathroom that she shared with her roommate, as Noelle finished brushing Fatima's thick wavy dark hair. Just as the shower started up, there was a knock at the door.

Sparing a glance at her clock, which now flashed eight thirty, Noelle called out, "Who's dere?"

"Mornin'!" James' voice trilled through the door. "Is Fatima ready?"

"Hold y'horses, fire-boy!" she ordered, brushing aside her charge's panicked fingers. "Relax, _Cherie_. We almost done here."

"But he is waiting outside –"

"An' waitin' a little longer won't kill him. Good t'ings t'dose who wait, sugah."

She expertly French-braided the girl's hair, tied the braid, spun the girl around to give her the once over, and kissed her on the forehead. "_Tres jolie, petite. Tres jolie._"

Fatima beamed as she took her head scarf and wrapped it securely around her head. "Thank you, Noelle."

"Mah pleasure, honey."

********************************

Vincent had never been so happy to get out a room before. Not even the time that he had accidently broken the window in his mother's bedroom while playing football with his cousins and had been called into the study to have his mother rant at him for forty-five minutes.

James hadn't been kidding. Boot camp descent into hell indeed. For three hours he had worked to get through an obstacle course fit for Godzilla, then had to work with the Thief – Backlash – to get through a stealth course that included everything from knock out gas to Indiana Jones-eque booby traps, and then there had been trying to fight a huge Japanese robot-type looking thing, and then a one on one with the Thief. The Thief who didn't seem half as wiped out as he did.

So Vincent was relieved as hell to be staggering out of the aptly named Danger Room and making his way to the showers.

He was so exhausted he didn't even have the energy to gripe at himself about how he had missed his chance to dispatch the Thief. All he wanted was a nice shower and place to crash for the next forty-eight hours.

Unfortunately for his longing for a nap, his stomach began to truly scream in displeasure. Oh. Right. People needed to eat.

His shower took twenty minutes longer than usual to make up for his shredded muscles and broken bones. He grabbed at a loose pair of sweats and a T shirt, dressed, then staggered barefoot to the elevators, boots and knife in hand. Screw his clothes.

The Thief had gone on ahead on him, throwing on jeans and a T shirt with the all-too familiar X emblazoned on it, and told him with a sadistic grin to expect these sessions every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning during the school year and afternoon sessions on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

If he didn't get around to killing these people, the goddamn Danger Room sessions, coupled with the insane Wolverine, would kill him first.

It took an eternity to find the kitchen and even when he did, he was confronted with a crowd of children pressing against the older Thief girl as she handed out bowls. Beyond the sea of excited youth, about a dozen teens and preteens were milling about; the youngest Thief was eating toast on the counter with her older brother lazily gulping coffee beside her. Just beyond them, James and his younger adopted sisters, Fatima and Saya were playing some kind of game that involved fire, a frying pan and scrambled eggs. Several bleary eyed guys, who he recognized as Alexei and Vassily Rasputin, Jayden Daniels, Charles Summers and Dr. McCoy were gulping down coffee as though they had been wandering through the desert for forty years.

The Thief girl noticed him first. "_Bonjour, Vincent._ How was y' descent inta hell? Y' look like shit."

Vincent was too out of it to argue, glare or do anything besides trudge through the kids, grab a stool and slump onto the bar-counter. He didn't even have the will to reject the cup of coffee the Thief girl offered to him.

He reached out to grab it, and blinked when she sharply pulled it away.

"What d'we say?" she prompted, green eyes glittering.

Oh no. She was _not_…

Shit. She was.

The coffee was not worth-

_GRRRRRGHL_, objected his stomach. The hell it isn't!

"_Merci_," he mumbled unhappily. If she dared make him repeat that louder, he was going to kill her right here and now, and _damn_ the consequences!

She gave him that damn infuriating smile and gaze him the coffee. "_De rien_."

He took a sip and sighed. At least the coffee here was good.

**It was brought to my attention that not all of you can read French so I humbly offer you these quick translations:**

**Alors venez - "So come on"**

**Mon frere - "my brother"**

**N'est pas - "Right?"**

**Tres jolie - "Very pretty"**

**De rien - "You're welcome"**

**Now review! Or I'll sick my Tiger-kitty on you!!**


	8. Chapter 8

**That's. It.**

**REVIEW!!!!!!!!!**

Chapter 7

Vincent spent the rest of the day in a pained haze, lying on his bed and trying to sleep. _Never again. Dese people are crazy._

His body felt like overcooked noodles and did not want to sit up, the bed being so comfortable as to feel as though it was gently pulling him down into warmth and darkness. Eyes falling closed, the last thing he managed to think was: Maman _would kill meh if she could see meh now._

_The instant he was asleep he found himself running away from the Thief gang, panting for breath, and then quite suddenly he was in the water, being buffeted about by the debris from the last storm. Just as his lungs were about to burst, he heard a sharp crack and he was abruptly falling through the air, down into rows and rows of moth-eaten seats. _

_But no, he was no longer dropping down, he was going away from the ground, he saw bits of rotten wood rushing towards him and forming a floor beneath him. He was running backwards along a roof, breath coming to him in sharp stabs to his side. His head whipped back, auburn hair snapping into his face, and saw a group of angry, yelling kids. Each one was bigger than himself, and at their head was a boy with wild dark blond hair and fierce blue eyes. _

_Fear pumped through his veins as freely as blood, but he couldn't stop. If he stopped, they would be on him in a heartbeat. But even if they did catch him it would be worth it! She would be safe. His baby sister would be safe!_

_The dream world's time righted itself and he was suddenly running forward instead of backwards. He glanced back and saw the Assassin Prince hard on his heels. He forced his legs to go faster, ponytail flying behind him._

_If he could get to the other side of the roof, he would be able to jump across the gap between buildings and lose the pack of Assassins in the city. Just a little further…_

Crack

_His heart stopped at the sound of wood snapping beneath him. He looked down in time to see rotten wood cracking beneath his feet. He opened his mouth and a short, sharp scream escaped him as he fell._

"Mate? Vincent! Mate!"

Someone was shaking him and someone was shouting.

Vincent opened his eyes.

James was shaking him, Alexei, Vassily, and the Thief boy close behind him.

"Friend!" Alexei yelled over the shouting. "You must stop the yelling! Calm yourself!"

The yelling stopped.

"What's going on?" his aching throat and hoarse voice told him he had been the one screaming.

"Y' tell us, _garçon_," the Thief said, leaning against his desk. "We were playin' poker in da other room an' den we hearin' y' howlin' da roof down."

"I will get the Professor," one of the Russians – Vassily – said, turning to go.

"No," he said quickly, sitting up with a groan. Great, his muscles had stiffened up. "Was jus' a stupid nightmare. Nothin' important."

"You were screaming like someone was torturing you mate," James said, looking uncharacteristically solemn.

"Was just a nightmare," he snapped, swinging his legs stiffly off the bed.

"Quite a nightmare," Vassily commented quietly.

"What's going on?" A small brunette with big brown eyes poked her head into the room. "Was somebody screaming?"

"It was nothing, Julia," Alexei assured her.

The newcomer's chin came up and her mouth tightened into a firm line. "Don't you lie to me, Alexei Rasputin!"

If his body hadn't felt so much like a rusty tin puppet, Vincent would have found the sight of a six and a half foot Russian wilting before the growing anger of a short girl with rabbit hair clips and dangly star earrings funny as hell.

"I am not lying," muttered the young man unconvincingly, his dark eyes focused on his feet.

"You so are!"

"Am not."

"Are so!"

"Am not."

"Are!"

"Not."

"_Mon Dieu_," Vincent moaned, rubbing his aching temples. "Will you two get a room already?!"

This time he couldn't hold back a light chuckle at the brilliant red flushes that shot across the two's faces. Well, that was an interesting discovery.

"We-we aren't," babbled the girl. "We're not… um… gotta go! Bye!"

She hightailed it out of the room.

"I should go and see if she is alright," Alexei mumbled before he too left.

"Word ta da wise, Boudreaux," the Thief said. "We don' mention obvious crushes when both people're around."

"So I can talk about you and Monica now?" Vassily asked with a wicked grin.

The Thief shrugged. "Y'wanna waste y'breath on somethin' dat ain't true, go rahght ahead."

"What about Orianna?"

"Do Ah look lahke a cradle robber?"

Pause.

"Don' answer dat."

"Kelsey?"

"Da blonde _fille_ who shoots lightenin'? Guess again, _mon ami_."

"Who then? My God, you're not ga-"

"Finish dat sentence an' Ah will blast y'ass from dis room."

Okay. As amusing as this was, all this ridiculous talk was just worsening his headache. "Could y'all jus' shut up an' get out?"

"Alright, gents!" James said, his voice sickeningly cheerful. "You heard the man, scram!"

The two remaining guys in the room, Vassily and the Thief, left. James closed the door securely behind them and then turned to walk back to his bed and sat down.

"You don't look so good, mate."

Vincent tried to stretch, but had to give up when his muscles threatened to shatter into a million little pieces of glass. "Ah don' feel so good."

"Y'know, Noelle makes this really good tea. It numbs you up for hours – it's better than Novocain!"

He thought of the Thief girl's lazy smirk. "Pass. Ah'll get some aspirin."

"Suit yourself." The young man picked up his laptop and tucked it under his arm. "See you around, mate, gotta call me mum and dad. Later."

And then he too was gone, leaving Vincent to ponder his dreams and his mission in private.

***************************

Noelle had been in the middle of taking a fresh batch of brownies out of the oven when a powerful surge of foreign emotions hit her so hard she nearly fell over. As it was, she burned herself terribly as she threw the baking pan onto the counter and grabbed the red hot oven to steady herself.

Fear. Anger. Hatred. Fear. Fear. Fear!

It took a moment to sort through the strange feelings, to remind herself which emotions belonged to her and which did not. It did not help that she was not familiar with the emotional signature. Logan had told her once that everyone had their own scent, unique to them, and she had tried to explain how everyone had a different sort of emotional… frequency? Signature? Method? She still couldn't quite describe it, even to herself – but everyone's emotions were different – and she was skilled and powerful enough to pick up the differences. And she didn't recognize this one, which could only mean that it belonged to the Institute's newest student, the Assassin.

"Noelle! Noelle, your hands!"

Monica Worthington, the daughter of Angel and Psylocke was drawing her away from the oven, gingerly prying her hands away from the scorching metal. Immediately, she felt the agony in her hands and yelped.

"_Sacre Mère de Dieu! Merde! Merde__!" _She switched to English as she stumbled over to the faucet and began running her ruined hands under cold water. _"Holyshitfudgin'motherofohgodohgodohgoddamnit!"_

A crowd of small children were immediately around her.

"Are you okay, Noelle?"

"Does it hurt?"

"Do you need a band-aid?"

"Should I get Dr. Hank?"

Noelle turned to them, her face set and slightly pale. "Ah need y'all t' go inda de livin' room. All o'y! Turn on da TV an' watch-" she glanced at the clock "-da Fairly Oddparents. Ah'll be wit' y' in a second. Wit' da brownies."

"But, Noelle-"

"Git. An' if Ah hear any o' y' repeatin' any o' da words Ah said, y'll be scrubbin' da Danger Room foh a month."

They filed out, with many unsure glances over their shoulders as they went.

As soon as the last child was out, Noelle turned her gaze down to her hands. The slender, graceful appendages were now red and blistered. "Damn it all."

"What happened, Noelle?" Monica asked, hurrying over from closing and turning off the oven.

"Got knocked off balance. Mentally an' physically," she explained, eyeing the burns. "Can y' fix 'em?"

Monica took the other girl's hands and examined the scalded palms and fingers. "I think so. Hold still and take deep breaths, okay?"

"_D'accord_."

Immediately coolness and a slight prickly feeling spread across Noelle's flesh as the skin repaired itself with the softest golden glow. In moments, her skin was smooth and completely unblemished.

Clenching both hands into fists, the young woman tested her hands, feeling the sensitivity and dexterity of her palms and every finger. All good.

She grinned and tugged at one of Monica's golden locks, "_Merci beaucoup, petite Angelique_."

"Stop calling me that!"

"No. Wanna brownie?"

********************************

Vincent was a ball of aches and pains when he stumbled into the dining room for dinner that night. Tonight was meat loaf, with a vegetable alternative for the vegetarians and vegans, and two enormous bowls of salad.

He sat next to James and the black kid Jayden as the Professor said the grace, ending with the horrific words, "And let us thank Noelle and Monica for this fine meal."

Shit.

"Sorry, Professah," laughed the Thief girl. "But I'm gon' have ta add somethin' ta y'speech."

"What is it, Noelle?"

"Me an' Monica didn' make da salad. Dat was all da _mes petites_. It was dere first tahme helpin' out wit' dinner."

"Then let us also thank our younger students," the Professor said graciously, with a nod at the children's table where the Thief girl was sitting with her charges.

Looked like it would only be salad for him tonight.

Damn Thieves – getting their filthy hands into everything!

He shook a healthy amount of salad onto his plate, covered it with ranch, and dug in as quickly as his throbbing arms would allow.

"So how was your first Danger Room session?" asked the Jayden kid.

"Shitty," he answered around a mouthful.

"They get easier."

"They better."

"Got any idea what team you're gonna be on?"

"Team?" he repeated, turning fully on the boy.

"Yeah," the other nodded. "We all get put on teams when we're ready. Since you've already had training and you got through Wolverine's Beginners' Death Camp alive and on your feet, you'll probably be on one of the main teams."

"What do dese teams do?"

Jayden shrugged. "Practice mostly, track down other mutants and offer them a place here. Sometimes," his voice lowered dramatically, "sometimes we go out and fight."

That got his attention. "Fight who?"

"Anti-mutant groups, crazy, terrorist mutants, out-of-control Sentinels… y'know… mutant stuff."

This was an interesting development. He had known that the X-Men were goody-two-shoes, but he hadn't expected for them to start saving the world so early. This might make it easier to complete his mission. It wouldn't be too difficult to kill the two older ones during a "mission" and then play it off as a mission casualty. "When do we find out who we paired wit'?"

"I dunno. Soon I think."

Well, wasn't _that_ just so wonderfully helpful?

He turned his back on the boy in disgust and addressed the kid sitting across him, the young man, Charles Summers. "Hey, Charles, right?"

"That's right," the kid said, eyeing him suspiciously. "You're Vincent, the new kid, right?"

He nodded, noting the cool tone in the guy's voice. "D'you know when dey gon' give out da team info?"

"Tonight," was the short reply. "After dinner."

The brief exchange gave him all the information he needed about _Monsieur_ Charles Summers – a prissy, stick-up-the-ass Yankee boy.

"Now. Why are you here?" demanded the young man, green eyes cold and dull.

"Ah don' t'ink dat's any o' y' business, _garçon_," he said with a lazy little grin, the pain in his arms fading away, _C'mon little boy, jus' try it._

"Who would like desert?" called the woman called Storm, holding up a huge plate covered with brownies.

There was a ringing of excited assent and the plate was passed around, stopping first at the children's table and then making its way around the table. James took about six, was scolded fiercely by the hot blonde Monica, put three back and passed it to Vincent.

The young Assassin took one and passed it on to Jayden. He eyed the small pastry, and then bit into it. Warmth and chocolately goodness burst in his mouth.

"Mmmm! Dese're good."

"A'n't 'ey?" James sputtered around the three brownies he had shoved into his mouth. "'Oelle 'akes 'em 'eal good!"

Vincent froze. "_Quoi_?"

The Brit chewed with some difficulty and somehow managed to swallow the huge brown mess, needing a few slaps on the back to get his breathing going again. "Noelle, the pretty sheila over there. She made the brownies with the kiddies. Good, huh?"

With lightening swiftness, the Cajun grabbed his napkin and spat the entire dark wad of disgusting sweetness out. He had almost _eaten_ one of those things! Had had it in his goddamn _mouth_.

"Whoa there, mate!" James cried, grabbing his shoulder. "Are you alright? What's wrong?"

"'S too sweet," he mumbled.

"May I have everyone's attention!" called the huge blue furry Dr. McCoy, standing up and pulling out a clipboard. "I have a list here of the names of those you have passed on to rookie level, those who will continue to be on teams and those you have ascended to become leaders. Please listen to hear your names."

Everyone sat up and leaned forward, brownies forgotten.

"Rookies joining our ranks this year are Richie Drake, Audrey Madrox, Claire LeBeau, Ricky de Costa, and our new arrivals Nikki Emerson and Jack Matthews."

A shrill voice immediately broke out from Christina Alvers, "Why don't I get to join this year?"

"'Cause y' not old enough," the Thief girl said flatly. "Next year when y'turn twelve y'c'n join up."

"As I was saying," Dr. McCoy said reprovingly. "Those of you whose names I just called will be reporting to the back lawn Monday, Wednesday and Friday right after school.

"The rookies returning to us this year will be Joey Crisp, Will Drake, Sayuri Matsumoto, Juanita Ramirez and Kiki Chang. You all will be reporting to the Danger Room after school on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

"The names of those who have earned a place on teams are as followed: Lucy Crisp, Jayden Daniels, Hannah de Costa, Sarah Masters-Summers and Eli Wagner. You all, of course, will be on the following list of team members.

"There will be four teams, codenamed Clamp, Shadow, Pacer and Javelin. Clamp will be lead by Denzel Hawkins," a black kid who looked like he should be playing for the Saints nodded grimly, "and will consist of Monica Worthington, James Allerdyce, Eli Wagner and Lucy Crisp."

Those named grinned at each other.

"Shadow is lead by Alana Wagner, and the others will be Lucien LeBeau, Sarah Masters-Summers, Jayden Daniels and Ahora Kura."

Jayden sent a horrified look to Sarah.

"Pacer will be lead by Edward Worthington, ("Monica's older brother," James whispered.") and the rest will be Vassily Rasputin, Kelsey Crisp, Hannah de Costa, and Bridget Dufour."

Another smattering of chatter as the new teammates looked each other over quickly.

"And Javelin will be lead by Charles Summers," said boy puffed up arrogantly. "The rest are Noelle LeBeau, Alexei Rasputin, Julia Alvers and our newest student Vincent Boudreaux."

Vincent's eyes snapped up to Dr. McCoy, then over to the Thief girl. She instantly felt his eyes on her and met his gaze fearlessly, a wicked smile playing around her lips.

After a moment of glaring at her, he saw her lips move and even though there was quite a bit of space between them he could make out what she said. "Dis is gon' be interestin'."

And as much as he hated to agree with a Thief, he had to admit she was right.

**Whew! What could happen now?**

**Review and find out!!**

**French translations**

**Garçon – boy**

**Mon Dieu – my God**

**Fille – girl**

**Sacre Mère de Dieu – Holy Mother of God**

**Merde – Shit**

**D'accord – Okay**

**Petite Angelique – little angel**

**Quoi? – What?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks to all those who've favorited my story! Now if you would just review, my life would be complete! We get to see Noelle kick some ass! **

**Read on!**

Chapter 8

_He was thrown around under the water, his heart pounding in his throat. Thump. Thump. Thump_

_Air! Air!_

_He broke the surface and gulped in desperately. There was a roaring in his ears that refused to quit even as he was dragged under the water again._

_He was tumbling through the water, debris hitting him fiercely, when he was suddenly thrust above into the air. He was shoved up against the wall of the canal and tried to find a handhold, his arm flailing and his hand grabbing wildly at the smooth concrete._

_The roaring was getting worse and the water was sucking him down again._

_He knew suddenly that if he went under the water again, he would never come back up. His actions became more frenzied and he clawed at the walls._

_He would never see _Maman_ again. _

_He didn't even have the energy or air to scream._

_And the roaring was so loud._

_So loud._

_So loud!_

His body felt horribly stiff and it took a long moment for him to roll out of bed. A brief glance around the room told him that James was curled up on his bed still asleep and snoring impressively. Even as he staggered to his feet to get to the bathroom before his bladder exploded, the door to the other bedroom opened and the Thief boy came inside. Ignoring Vincent completely, the Thief marched over to James' bed, grabbed the sleeping young man and flipped him onto his face, burying him in the pillow.

"Jus' some friendly advice," the guy muttered as he walked back to his room. "But dat's da best way ta shut him up 'thout killin' him."

But it was too late for him to get back to sleep; he was up and so up he would stay. Grabbing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, he changed and left the room to find something to eat.

It didn't take very long to get to the kitchen, and when he did he found it already occupied. The woman Storm was quietly sipping tea, while Logan and the dangerous-looking woman they called Laura gulped coffee down like pros. At the table a very slender young woman sat very straight, staring straight ahead and not eating or drinking anything.

Vincent eyed her appreciatively. She was quite good-looking, pale blond hair, features as delicate and well-formed as a china doll's…

"Please stop eyeing me like a piece of meat, Vincent Boudreaux," the girl said abruptly, voice soft and rather flat. "I am not for you and you are not for me."

"How d'ya know dat, _ma belle_?" he asked with all the charm he could muster. Which was quite a bit.

She turned sky blue eyes on him, amusement playing around the corners of her mouth. "I know that, Vincent Boudreaux, because you are meant for someone else."

"An' who would dat be, _Belle_?"

"It is not for me to say, Vincent Boudreaux, " she responded. "However, I must ask that you stop calling me Belle. My name is Bridget."

"Same difference, Ah think."

"Watch it, Knife-boy," growled Logan. "If the lady says back off, you'd better start hittin' reverse."

Ignoring the protective man's words, Vincent sat down beside the lovely young woman and addressed her again. "May Ah ask where y're from, _Mademoiselle Bridgette_?"

"You may, Vincent Boudreaux."

Silence.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Where are y' from, _Bridgette_?"

"I am from Geneva, Vincent Boudreaux."

"Switzerland?"

The phone rang, effectively distracting the three adults, who had been listening very closely to the two's conversation.

"That is correct, Vincent Boudreaux."

"I's jus' Vincent, _Bridgette_."

"No it is not, Vincent Boudreaux. It is Vincent Julian Boudreaux, born at 9:54PM March 18th, to a Miss Bella Donna Boudreaux and her estranged lover –"

Vincent was on his feet by this time. "How d'ya know dat? Who told ya?"

Bridget looked up at him calmly. "No one told me, Vincent Boudreaux. I simply knew as I know many things. That is my power, you see. It is why they call me Delphi after the famous oracle that resided in Delphi, Greece thousands of years ago."

Blinking very hard, he tried to wrap his head around this. "So… y'know… everythin'?"

"Not exactly everything, Vincent Boudreaux. I know what happens, what may or may not happen, and what has already come to pass. I cannot, however, always tell you what the motives are for the people who do as they do. Their thought processes elude me, Vincent Boudreaux."

"Laura," Storm said, holding the phone to her ear. "Alex is at the airport. He's wondering where you are."

Laura stood up with a soft curse. "Logan, I need to borrow your truck."

"Lemme get ya the keys." The two walked out together, leaving Storm still speaking into the phone, reassuring someone called Alex.

The young Assassin slowly sat back down.

"So, y' know why Ah'm here?"

"Yes, Vincent Boudreaux, I do."

Silence.

"C'n y' tell meh how it's gonna work out, _s'il vous plait_?"

"Yes, Vincent Boudreaux, I can."

Silence.

Storm hung up the phone and left the room.

"Well? How's it gonna work out?"

Bridget was silent for a long moment. "The Professor has asked me not reveal all that I know. However, I know that I will tell you a little of what I know. There are many possibilities branching out from this moment on, Vincent Boudreaux, but only two main paths stand out to me."

"What are dey?"

"Laughter of one kind, Vincent Boudreaux, lies down one path. Laughter of another kind lies down another."

"What're y' talkin' about? What kinda laughter?"

Bridget looked at him impassively. "That is all I will tell you, Vincent Boudreaux. The rest you will find out for yourself."

"No, y' gon' tell me or Ah'll –"

"I know you will do nothing because Noelle Lebeau is –"

"What's goin' on here?"

Speak of the goddamn devil.

The Thief girl walked through the door, hair in a ponytail and a dozen or so kids trailing behind her like ducklings. "_Bonjour, Bridget. __Ca va__?_"

"_Oui_," the other girl said with a nod. _"Ca va. Et toi?_"

"_Très bien, merci_. What'm Ah makin' foh breakfast?"

Bridget smiled. "You are making French toast, Noelle LeBeau."

"Sounds great. Y'guys wanna help?"

**************************

The day passed with nothing out of the ordinary for a Friday. The younger kids had their first Danger Room session with Dr. McCoy and Wolverine since Laura was out picking her husband up from the airport and there was the usual amount of chaos associated with six twelve year olds herded into the Danger Room and told to play dodgeball as a team using their powers, but thankfully no real injuries.

Noelle had laughed at the sight of her younger sister stumbling out of the danger room with her lovely white and auburn hair streaked with soot. And then laughed even harder as the younger girl scowled and told her to shut up.

After the disastrous morning Danger Room sessions for the younger students came the older students' individual sessions.

Noelle watched her team leader leap and dodge his way through the obstacle course like a commando; he was good. She had never doubted that, and would be the first to admit that he was a more than capable fighter. But he was a crappy leader.

Charles always had to be right. He always had to have a plan, no matter how stupid and impractical it was – he never tried to think on the fly. And relying solely on carefully laid plans was not the best skill for an X-Man.

Their former leader, Warren Worthington IV, better known as Gabriel when he was suited up, had been very serious and kind. He had been a stickler for rules but was willing to break them for the good of the team and its members. His plans beforehand were awesome and he was never afraid to step out of them and just fly by the seat of his pants. Unfortunately, Warren had left them to do a stint in the U.S. military before college, his superhuman reflexes and enhanced sight making boot camp a breeze.

Leaving Charles as leader.

That was the worst part.

"Not a bad run, Cicero," Cyclops, Charles' father, praised. "Alright, Kestrel, you're up."

Noelle rolled her shoulders in her dark navy uniform, loosening herself up and taking a deep breath. This was no place for Noelle LeBeau – this was Kestrel's show.

*****************************

Vincent watched as his target entered the Danger Room, her slick leather uniform clinging to every curve. It really was a shame that such a sweet ass had been wasted on her.

The walls around the young woman shifted into a prison cell with dank stone walls, floor, and ceiling. There were no windows and the door was a thick slab of metal nestled snugly into the concrete. There was some sort of alarm light bulb just above the door, protected with barbed wire and what he guessed was bulletproof glass.

The Thief spent about ten seconds looking around her prison before zeroing in on the door. She ran her half-gloved hands over it, searching for some sort of weakness, but there was none. Dropping her head for a moment, she stood stock still for the briefest second before suddenly springing into the air to grab onto the alarm light. It took a moment to get herself going, but soon she was swinging her body freely, building up momentum.

Watching this, Vincent raised an eyebrow. Was she really going to try and kick the door down?

Yes. Yes she was.

Whipping her lean body through the air, she slammed her boots into the door. The thing groaned and the hinges popped out. With a nasty grinding noise, the entire door toppled from its frame and fell with a terrific crash out into the hall.

She darted out, silent as a shadow, and made her way along a corridor as foreboding as her former cell. Her thick boots made no sound on the concrete floors and she left no sign that she had passed.

She was good. She had already made it through half the course without resorting to her powers.

Which wasn't so good for him; he needed to see what he would be up against.

He already knew what the Thief boy's abilities were from their shared session the other day. Lucien LeBeau manipulated sound waves – he could make an explosion as soft as a whisper or make a whisper loud enough to shatter windows. An interesting and highly useful ability, though it was going to make sneaking up on the bastard difficult.

Meanwhile, back with the Thief girl, an entire portion of the hallway she had been sneaking along exploded, flinging her clear across the space to crash into another door.

Somehow shrugging off the slabs of stone that had fallen onto her, she stood up, brushing away dust and grime from her uniform, and turned to face whatever had just tried to kill her – especially when that was _his_ job.

Vincent was extremely possessive about his kills.

It was one of those giant robot things that he had encountered with the Thief earlier that week.

"What da hell are dose t'ings?" he muttered, watching in fascination as the thing reached a huge hand to try to grab the girl.

"They are Sentinels," replied Alexei. "They hunt, capture, and kill mutants."

Note to self: avoid Sentinels. Potential to be dangerous and inconvenient.

The Thief looked much worse for wear. There were vicious tears in her uniform and he could only imagine how much she had to bleeding, though he couldn't see any blood except what was dripping from a deep and nasty cut on her leg.

As the enormous grasping fingers stretched out towards her, the young woman spread her long legs and took a defensive fighting stance, her face – though far away – looked set and determined. She didn't flinch even as the metal digits reached for her. The Sentinel leaned over the wall, stepping on some of it. No twitch as the hand began to close around her.

It was only when the fist began to clench did she move.

And move she did.

Her slender hands shot out to grab the hand that was closing around her. There was a crunching sound as she gripped the robot's fingers, crushing the steel in her hold like a cheap aluminum soda can. With all the grace of someone trained to be a Thief, she used the hand as a spring board, heaving her body into the air, setting her feet on the gigantic hand – which now resembled a mangled sardine can – and making her way up the thing's thick arm.

"Holy shit." Was his only comment.

"Yes," Alexei nodded with a slight smile. "Noelle has that effect on a lot of people."

The Thief suddenly rocketed into the air like a bird taking flight, hunched her shoulders slightly, and rammed her body into the wannabee Gundam's chest. She tore through it like wet tissue paper and whipped around in midair to watch it, one leg tucked gracefully up beneath her body.

Alexei muttered something that Vincent was fairly sure was the equivalent of 'Holy shit' in Russian. "I must say, that is new."

A droning voice could be heard from inside the Danger Room, "Simulation a success. Now ending Kestrel's program."

The cold metal walls of the Danger Room instantly reappeared, revealing the Thief girl lowering herself onto the floor, bangs fluttering around her face and blood dripping from her leg.

**********************

Kestrel shook her bangs from her eyes and walked through the door into the hall where Monica – codenamed Madonna – and Wolverine were waiting.

"You shouldn't have waited for the junk heap to try to grab you," her instructor immediately began lecturing. "Now you've got a big-ass scratch."

"Y'raght," she replied agreeably. "Ah should've t'rown mahself against it immediately – oh wait, Ah was waitin' for it ta knock out da mutant alarms. _Bété moi_, who cares about X-gene detectors?"

He scowled at her, "Less o' the sarcasm, Mouse. Keep goin' like that and you'll be a bigger smartass than your Dad."

She laughed brightly. "Gimme another coupla months."

"Noelle, your leg," Madonna whispered, staring at her torn leg.

"Hm? Oh yeah." She made her way over to a bench to give her friend the space to heal the limb. "_Désole_, adrenaline's killin' most o' da pain."

In no time, her wound was gone and her leg felt as strong as ever, though her uniform was pretty much ruined.

Led by Wolverine, the two girls walked back to the Observation deck, where the Professor and the other instructors were waiting. The teachers this year were the same as last year: Cyclops, Beast, Storm, Talon, Havok, Forge, Sage, Iceman, Jubilee, and the ever present Wolverine.

Each of them had their own takes on her performance.

Cyclops: "You should have made your move on the Sentinel sooner."

Beast: "Clever, using the Sentinel to destroy the X detectors."

Storm: "Good work, Kestrel."

Talon: "Acceptable."

Havok, Iceman, Jubilee: "Awesome work!"

Sage: "The strategy you chose was the best available."

Forge: "What? Um… you did good!"

Rolling her eyes at the techie's lack of interest of anything that didn't require batteries or wires, Kestrel turned to the students her own age. "Your turn, Atlas."

Alexei/Atlas took a deep breath, and walked into the room, away from the Assassin, who was leaning against the wall. Too tired to care, Kestrel took his place, ignoring the startled, suspicious look from Vincent, and struck up a conversation with Bridget.

"Seein' anythin' foh da comin' season, _mon ami_?" she asked.

"I am an oracle better than any that has been seen since that of Delphi and you ask me about sports?"

"_Ouais_, see anythin'?"

"Noelle LeBeau, I am not at liberty to say anything about that."

"Not even if i's gonna be a good season?" she asked, giving her best pleading glance with a bit of sympathetic empathy for good measure.

Bridget smiled lightly. "I will say this to you, Noelle. This coming year will be filled with surprise and danger."

"OOOOO, sounds fun."

She then had to abandon her conversation to grab her neighbor's hand as it drifted over to the pocket where he kept his knife.

Assassins! Did they all think she was completely oblivious?

**Now REVIEW!!!! I'm BEGGING YOU!**

**For all of you who don't know French:**

**_ma belle -"my beauty"_**

**_Bonjour, Bridget. __Ca va__? - "Hello, Bridget. You doing alright?"_**

**_Ca va. Et toi? - "Yes, I am doing alright. And you?"_**

_**Bété moi - "Silly me"**_

_**Désole - "Sorry"**_


	10. Chapter 10

**Voila! Here it is! Not much to this one, but read it anyway. Review too!**

Chapter 9

His carefully laid plans to complete his mission on Saturday so as to leave enough time to go to confession on Sunday was neatly and utterly ruined as he was told that Saturday morning was the day that every single vehicle in the Institute was scrubbed down. Which included everything from the buses and vans, the SUVs, the cars – including an enviable Viper, a gorgeous red convertible and the slickest Mustang he'd ever laid on eyes on – the motorcycles (for the first time in his life, Vincent bemoaned that he had not been trained as a Thief and was unable to sneak out the beautiful Harley or the two mouthwatering crotch rockets), the ATVs, two huge military grade choppers, and the slickest black jet he'd ever seen.

All his attempts to sneak away were brought to a screeching halt by the Wolverine or his little girlfriend/daughter/sister/something Laura. The bastards.

It didn't help that his arm was red and raw from where he had scrubbed his arm after the Thief girl had grabbed him yesterday.

By the time they were finished, the sun was starting to set and he was exhausted, but before he could go pass out on a nice bit of concrete somewhere, one of the teachers who had arrived yesterday – a tall guy called Mr. Bobby Drake – intercepted him and, after a quick shower, dragged him off to get school supplies. Thankfully, all that required was leaning on a shopping cart as his guide steered him through the aisles and then grabbing handfuls of pencils, pens, notebooks, loose leaf paper, binders, folders, highlighters, and a backpack that didn't have Dora the Explorer or Tonka Trucks on it. He fell asleep on the way back to the Institute and hoped to God that this was not how these people spent their weekends.

Nope. They spent their Saturday nights watching movies fraught with explosions, giant robots and epic gun and sword fights or wedding proposals, declarations of love and lots of corny one-liners or of cartoon characters scrambling around to find rainbows, kitty-cats or whatever the hell it was.

Depending on which room you went into.

Vincent went into his room, where to his immense displeasure, he found his roommate, Alexei, the huge black guy called Denzel, and the two older Thieves playing poker on the floor.

"Ah do b'lieve dis is our cue ta leave," the Thief girl said briskly, gathering the cards and her winnings (which were a lot bigger than anyone else's). "Vincent's givin' off so many bad vibes i's givin' meh a headache."

The others quickly joined her in picking up and leaving, Alexei patting him gently on the shoulder. The Thief boy and Denzel passed him with brief nods. The Thief girl was the last to leave the room, and she paused and ran a hand along his red, raw arm.

He stiffened in repulsion as she leaned close and said quietly. "If y' insist on scrubbin' y' skin off every tahme we touch Ah'm gonna start takin' it personally."

She flashed that annoying smile and walked to the door. Before closing the door, the girl cocked her head wickedly. "Y' sure y' don' need me ta tuck y' in?"

All the patience he had been trying to hold onto snapped, and he hurled his knife as hard and fiercely as he could. Instantly, he was hyper aware of everything, the floor under his feet, the bed… The knife. The girl goading him…

The blade left his hand with a whoosh and thunked into the door as she closed it sharply behind her.

He stood by his bed, decked in dark blue comforters, and tried to decide if it was worth stumbling over there to get his knife. It was his uncle's knife.

Of course it was.

Just as he was about to make his way through the long steps to his door, James wrenched the knife out of the door – it took quite a pull – and gave it back to him. "You're lucky you didn't hit Noelle, mate."

"Lucky fo' her."

"Really." James looked incredibly solemn as he returned it to the taller boy. "If you'd cut her, Lucien would've come tearing down our door, then Alexei – he's very fond of Noelle – and if you were very unlucky Logan and the other teachers would find out. Then you would truly be in deep shit."

Vincent scoffed as he tucked his knife into a pocket. "Sounds lahke little Miz Noelle's got da whole damn school wrapped around 'er finger."

"Vincent, mate, Noelle came here when she was twelve years old when she kept shooting off the floor in her old house and hitting the ceiling. She was so small Logan called her Mouse and it stuck even when she hit a growth spurt. She got into X-Men training programs a year early and did even better than her brother. There's no one in this school 'cept maybe the Summers guys who doesn't like her. You pick a fight with her and you'll be bringing the whole house down on your head, mate."

The Assassin snorted and began changing into his pajamas.

He ignored the last words of his roommate as the Brit left the room. "Whatever it is you've got against her, mate, for your own sake, put it behind you."

*****************************

_He was drowning. _

_There was no other word for it._

_His head broke the surface abruptly and he found himself hurled against the concrete walls of the canal. His hands clawed desperately at the stone, seeking a handhold. He knew instinctively that if he went under the water again, he would not come back up. And he could find no crack on the wet, slick sides._

_He was slipping; the water was pulling at his legs. _

_Then it was suddenly bucking him back up._

_Last chance at life!_

_He raked his red hands across concrete sides. _

_Come on. Come on. Come on!_

_Nothing._

_He was going back under._

_Under the water._

_An explosion of noise came from somewhere above him. A firm grip closed around his hand and another grip closed around his arm. _

Light meandered its way through their window in the lazy way that all windows that didn't face the sun attracted light.

Wincing at the bright light, Vincent rolled over and caught sight of his alarm clock. It flashed 12:45PM in bright red.

Dammit! He should have been on a plane back home to New Orleans right now, leaving behind three rapidly cooling bodies!

His mother was going to have his ass for lunch.

And then his heart for dessert.

Snatching for a new change of clothes, Vincent began the task of berating himself for taking so long to complete the job. He wasn't a two bit street thug – he was a Guild trained Assassin, for God's sake.

And speaking of God, he'd missed church.

Another string of dark words left his lips just as James walked in with his younger sisters, Fatima and Saya.

"Easy there!" James scolded lightly. "I don't want to have to explain my sisters' new vocab to me mum. She'd kill the TV again."

"_Désole_," he gritted out even as he revised his plan.

A quick kill wasn't going to be possible. They were too skilled and at this rate someone was going to get wise and either throw him out, turn him in, or kill him. He was going to have to make this a long term thing. Get close and earn their trust. Get them alone. Kill them.

He thought of being nice to those three, smiling, joking, eating their cooking…

No fuckin' way in hell.

He was _not_ going to suck up to those brats! He would just have to call his mother and explain to her that it was going to take a while to get each one alone – maybe not so long to get the older girl alone, but he was more than a little excited at the prospect of fighting her. Imagine fighting and killing someone who could fly…

That made him stop and imagine what it would be like to fly. It really was a shame that she was a Thief; he couldn't even ask her what it was like to fly.

With a sigh at the thought of what his mother was going to say about this, he reached for his cell phone.

****************************

Noelle looked up from the pile of school supplies on her bed as a feeling of annoyance, resigned anger, exasperation, and defiance came from the direction of James and Vincent's room. She grinned to herself before turning back to inserting college-ruled paper into the binder.

"What's so funny?" Sarah asked, stuffing pencils and pens into her backpack.

She nodded at the door. "Vincent's pissed 'bout somethin'."

Her roommate scoffed. "He hasn't killed you yet. His mother will not be happy."

Concentrating, Noelle threw her empathy out expertly, slipping through the excitement, nervousness and other assorted emotions, to touch the feelings of Vincent Boudreaux. Very close to him she could feel what felt something like a tiny star of anger and bitterness.

A phone call?

"He's talkin' ta his _mère_, Ah think."

"How can you tell?"

"Dis summer Ah practiced on Mama an' Daddy. 'S easier since mah powers don' work so well on 'em. Makes it easier ta focus on other stuff, lahke da people on da other end o' da phone."

Sarah looked up from the contents of her bag. "You can sense the emotions of people over the phone?"

A lazy grin shrugged off the astonishment. "Gettin' dere. What classes d'y got?"

The younger girl winced and drew her schedule from her pocket. "I've got math first."

"Ouch."

"No, it's not too bad. Then science, history, gym, lunch, English, French, and art."

"Y're takin' French again? Didn' y' learn y'lesson las' year?"

"I passed."

"Afteh Ah retaught y'everythin'."

"You won't tutor me again?"

She looked at her friend flatly. "Sugah, Ah am in charge o' ten kids, who're all gonna be in school dis year. Which means Ah'm gon' be helpin' wit' homework an' fixin' self-esteem issues. Add ta dat mah own homework, Danger Room sessions and missions.

"Ah love y', Sarah, but no way in hell am Ah jumpin' t'rough all dose hoops. Ah help y' only if Ah got da tahme. Y' could ask Luke or Claire. Or even Beast, he speaks French very well."

Sarah pouted, which was a little crazy since she never pouted. "Please?"

Noelle arched a brow. "Y' should know by now dat Ah ain't won over by puppy dog eyes an' poutin', _mon ami_."

The younger girl sighed heavily and Noelle laughed lightly. "Alraght, alraght! Ah make tahme ta help y'. If y' promise ta help meh wit' _mes petites_."

"Alright."

**************************

Sunday dinner was a huge meal of catfish, rice and green beans. Luckily, Jayden, Bridget, and Ms. Laura had made it so he could actually eat.

It wasn't bad either, he thought with tired satisfaction. His mother had treated him to an hour long lecture about why she had assigned him to this task to begin with.

"Dese people killed _ton oncle et ton père_! I sent y' to avenge dere deaths, but if y'd prefer foh me ta do it –"

"_Non, Maman_," he had said. "I's mah duty ta make dose _bâtards_ pay. I will do it, but it'll take longer dan Ah t'ought. Dese T'ieves've made demselves a nahce little hideaway here. But rest assured, Milday, Ah'll do it."

"Dat's what Ah lahke ta hear."

"Don't forget, everyone!" Storm called. "Tomorrow begins the new school year, and the new year's sessions of Danger Room programs." She chuckled softly at the eruption of groans that sprang up at this announcement. "So be sure to get a good night's rest!"

"Storm is right," the Professor said solemnly. "You don't want to be dozing off in class. Or Logan's training session."

There was a collective shudder at the thought of letting one's guard so much as to fall asleep during any Danger Room session run by the Institute's most feared instructor.

Vincent groaned at the thought of yet another Danger Room session, coupled with his first day of school.

Joy, wasn't tomorrow going to be fun?

**Wasn't that fun? Now review so I can write faster please!!!**

**_Désole _- "Sorry"**

**_mère_ - "mother"**

**_ton oncle et ton père _- "your uncle and your father"**

**_bâtards_ - "bastards"**


	11. Chapter 11

**Wow. Chapter 10 Already. Holy crap!**

**Well, a major shout out to Chellerbelle - my faithful reviewer!!! Thank you! You make me feel loved!!**

Chapter 10

_A grip had settled on his hand, and then on his arm, tightening fiercely and heaving at him._

_Was it a grownup?_

_No. A grownup would have pulled him up easily. Whoever this was pulling him up with painful slowness._

"_Don' jus' lay dere, stupid!" cried a voice. "Help me!"_

_The darkness threatening to swamp his vision immediately fell away and he got a good look at a green tank top before closing his eyes and digging his sneakers into the concrete and scrambling to get up._

_As he desperately climbed, there was a sharp rip and suddenly he was kicking at the wall in torn sneakers and socks. The hands on his arms pulled firmly and he managed to kick off the wall hard enough to land his skinny chest on the ground. _

_The hold on his arms lugged him further away from the edge and soon he was lying flat on his face in the dirt, gasping for breath. The hands on his limbs vanished and suddenly flipped and him onto his back. He was propped up and whacked hard on the back. _

_Instantly, it felt as though his stomach was convulsing as he vomited up water desperately, dribbling it all down his front. _

_The hits on his back soon turned into gentle stroking and the voice that had shouted at him spoke to him quietly and rather frightened. "Are y'okay?"_

_He slowly turned and looked at his savior. _

_Pretty…_

Beep

Beep

Beep

Beep

Moaning, Vincent groped for his brand new alarm clock and slapped it into silence.

"Better get a move on, mate," came the groggy voice of his roommate.

With enormous willpower, he lifted the covers from his head and stared at his friend as the other pulled on a uniform of black cloth that wasn't leather with a pattern of dark red and orange flames on his shoulders that extended down his arms to the very tips of his sleeves. It actually looked pretty cool – in a dorky sort of way.

Not as cool as some of the other uniforms, but better than his anyway. A loincloth would be better than his uniform.

"James?"

"MM?" groaned the redhead as he adjusted his black combat boots.

"When did y'get y'own uniform?" If he was going to be stuck here for a while he didn't want to have to be stuck in such a horrific outfit.

"What? Oh, we all get our own customized uniforms once we get onto a team. Don't worry, mate. They'll probably do yours after school."

"Good, 'cause Ah hate dis t'ing." He plucked at the skin tight mess of navy and yellow leather.

"What kind of uniform did you have in mind?"

"Somet'in' dark blue Ah guess," he said with a shrug. "An' black 'course."

"Nobody but Noelle and Alana wear dark blue."

"On secon' t'ought, maybe dark green an' black. Better camouflage."

"Why don't you like Noelle?" James asked, standing up.

He was saved from answering by a loud pounding on the door. It was Wolverine.

"Get going, Matches, Knife," the man growled – could he do anything _but_ growl and snarl? "Danger Room session's in ten."

"Got it, Logan," James assured him. "Ready, Vinny?"

"Don't call me Vinny."

"Why not?"

Vincent finished pulling on the hideous yellow boots and got up. "Do Ah freakin' look lahke a Vinny?"

His roommate leaned back a bit and squinted up at him. "Maybe a little around the eyes. And the nose. You've got a Vinny nose."

Rolling his eyes, he pushed past the shorter boy and into the hall where he could see the Thief boy and Alexei walking down the corridor. "Dat mean Ah c'n call y' Jimmy?"

"Only if you let me call you Vinny! And me mum says I've got the face of a Jimmy!"

He couldn't help it; he burst out laughing. "Y'r crazier dan Ah am, _mon ami_!"

Someone was behind him.

It was the tall blonde, Monica Worthington, dressed in a slick, stylish black and gold uniform. She looked both annoyed and agonizingly hot.

"_Bonjour, mademoiselle._"

"Save it," she snapped, grabbing his arm and James – Jimmy's – ear. "You guys are gonna make us late and you're gonna wake all the younger students up!"

"May Ah consider dis foreplay?"

She spun and glared at him, though there was a slight smile and blush working at her lips and cheeks. "No."

Less than five minutes later he was in the briefing room, a large circular room with benches all along the wall in an almost stadium like design, and a large rectangular table at the center and lowest point of the room. About twenty chairs stood around the chair and each one was filled with the instructors and team leaders.

Vincent ticked them off in his head.

Professor X.

Wolverine.

Cyclops – the dad of Charles Summers. As stick-up-the-ass as his son.

Storm – beautiful and in his good graces since she had allowed him to raid the refrigerator the nights the Thief girls had cooked.

Beast – an awesome doctor who had given him a physical a few days ago.

Talon – Wolverine's daughter who, gorgeous as she was, gave him the creeps.

Havok – Talon's husband, and Cyclops' younger brother with none of his stiffness.

Iceman – a jokester who had ice-cold hands and very corny sense of humor.

Jubilee – Iceman's wife who served as the adult gossip relay for the entire school.

Forge – the ultimate techie who always had grease on his arms and a slightly distracted air even when he didn't have his hands buried in the belly of some machine.

Sage – a dark haired beauty with the personality of a cottonmouth.

Cicero – major asshole.

Edward "Sunwing" Worthington – good looking and good-natured with huge golden wings.

Alana "Sprite" Wagner – blue with dark hair and a kind smile.

Denzel "Stone" Washington – the huge black guy who looked at the Thief girl like she was the Second Coming.

There were five empty chairs but no one tried to sit in them, choosing instead to take seats on the bench along the wall. He sat between James and the girl Bridget, dressed in black and soft grey.

"Good morning, Vincent Boudreaux. Good morning, James Allerdyce."

"Morning, Bridget," James yawned. "What's happening?"

"We will start eleven seconds past five thirty. Professor Xavier will welcome us and explain the purpose of the Danger Room and then allow Wolverine and Cyclops to explain the exercise."

"W'as da exercise?" _Don' let it be Sentinels again. Please God!_

A small smile stretched across the girl's face. "It will be a search and rescue exercise, Vincent Boudreaux."

Vincent sighed in relief. That was better.

James, however, groaned loudly. "Bloody hell, couldn't they have given us something easier? Sentinels maybe?"

"What da hell are y'talkin' about? Y'd rather dodge around a giant robot dan rescue somebody?"

"You don't understand, mate. Search and rescue sessions are completely unpredictable. We are going to be in such deep shit. What a way to start the year."

Before he could question the other boy any further, the Professor raised his hand for silence, which fell immediately. "Good morning, everyone. I trust you are all ready for this morning's session?"

A loud groan greeted this and the man smiled. "Very good. Now, for our newer students, the Danger Room was built to assist in the training of young and developing mutants. For these beginning practices, the safeties will be on and you will be completely safe. However, I must stress that what we are training you to face in the outside world is entirely real. There have been casualties –"

There was a moment of silence at this and Cyclops and Cicero bowed their heads. It a while for the Professor to resume speaking.

"-and we do not wish that this should ever happen to you. Now, I will hand this over to Wolverine and Cyclops to explain today's objective. Good luck."

******************************

Noelle sat between her brother and Julia, half-listening to the briefing even as she fidgeted with her uniform. It would be in tatters by the end of the hour, she knew. Neither Beast nor Forge had been able to design a suitable fabric that could hold up to the amount of stress she put it under when she flew.

Finally Wolverine ordered for them to get into their teams and report to the Danger Room.

"_A tout a l'heure, mon frère_," she said quickly, kissing her brother on the cheek and walking away with Julia to join Cicero and Atlas.

Vincent joined them, casting a suspicious glance at her that she calmly ignored.

As they set out towards the Danger Room, she slipped into the mindset of Kestrel and began sorting out her team's dynamic. It was simple for the most part as she had known all of her teammates for quite a while.

Alexei – Atlas – was the anchor of their team. A veritable rock of good sense, gentleness, and loyalty, but fiercely powerful and stubborn to the core. He was also her brother's best friend, and that more than made up for any of the faults he might have had.

Julia – Bijou – was the real body of sheer intelligence. Under that valley girl accent was a keen brain that rivaled every student's except for Bridget, who didn't count. As Julia she could be a ditz, but as Bijou there was little that got past her.

Charles – Cicero – was the leader, for better or worse. He was a cunning fighter and had his moments as leader when nothing spoiled his meticulously laid plans and rules. But he could be stiff, arrogant and completely focused on the mission, forgetting his teammates.

Vincent – Sniper, she had heard he called himself – had the potential to be a great ally or a terrible enemy. Her father had told her how the Assassins were trained and the stories he told her were dark and frightening. There was no doubt that Vincent was a cunning and vicious fighter, she had seen his fight with Lucien that first day; he was a killer, plain and simple. But he had gone to get James at her request when Fatima had lost control of herself. It seemed that Lady Belladonna had not totally killed the humanity in her son. His heart was still there. She wondered how he would mesh with her team.

Which brought her thoughts to herself and her own place in the team.

Noelle had been brought up in New Orleans by the combined efforts of her Mama, Daddy, _Oncle Henri_, _Tante Mercy,_ and _Tante Mattie_. Taught to be independent and quick on her feet, Kestrel could work both with a team and by herself. She was usually the one to come up with desperate last minute, last chance plans when everything was going to hell and the shit was hitting the fan.

"So… um… Sniper?" Bijou asked, twisting her hands. "What're your powers?"

He launched into an explanation of molecules and attractions but she ignored all of this, zeroing in on the main idea of it all. "Ah don't miss."

"Shall we get dis show on da road?" she asked, hands going to her trusty staffs strapped on her thighs.

"Let's go," Cicero commanded as the huge metal doors of one of the compartments of the Danger Room slid open.

The five stepped inside and the doors immediately closed around them with a soft hiss, effectively casting them into darkness. Suddenly, light lit up around them and Javelin found itself surrounded by several battalions of soldiers both on the ground and in helicopters buzzing in midair.

"Da effin' hell?" Sniper growled. "T'ought dis was search an' rescue!"

"People get caught in search and rescue missions," Atlas explained tersely. "Plan, Cicero?"

Cicero looked slightly taken aback by the sudden appearance of all the enemies. "Take them out. Kestrel, try to see if you can find out where our hostage is. Remember, we don't want to kill anybody. Let's move!"

"_Quoi_?" Sniper howled at their backs as they all charged forward. "How da hell're we supposed ta win t'ought killin' –"

Kestrel leapt into the air and, as always, had to resist the urge to laugh and whoop as air rushed past her cheeks. Shots brushed against her and one grazed her neck, releasing a small stream of blood.

Instantly, she could feel the wild hum of adrenaline rushing through her veins and she pushed her speed up past seventy mph and grabbed one of the rotors of a helicopter, knocking it off balance. It took only a quick squeeze to crunch the steel in her slender gloved hands.

Darting through the air like her namesake animal she took out helicopter after helicopter, shrugging off everything from bullets to RPGs. In less than five minutes, she was the only thing still in the air. Her role completed, she looked down to see how her friends were doing.

Cicero had a dozen or so soldiers on the ground, mentally beating them into submission. Bijou was briskly charging through the chaos, her skin diamond hard and shining in the harsh spotlights. Atlas was crushing an Army jeep in his hands like a soda can. Sniper…

Where was Sniper?

There he was, fighting hand-to-hand against three soldiers, showing off his expert abilities. But there were too many for him; he took one down and five popped up to take his place.

Sighing deeply, Kestrel dove through the air and landed next to her teammate. A sudden feeling of heaviness told her that the cut on her neck had stopped bleeding, effectively halting her strength and invulnerability. Looked like there would be no throwing men around like baseballs for her. With yet another sigh, her hands went to her thighs and she took up her twin staffs.

"_Dis_, Assassin-boy!"

His dark blue eyes shot towards her and his jaw tightened. She could see his fight to keep from killing her and ignored it.

"Take dis," she ordered him, tossing him one of the sturdy carbon steel sticks.

He caught it in one hand and stared at it as though she had given him a poisonous snake.

"W'as dis supposed ta be?"

"Whadda y' t'ink?" she said, rolling her eyes and squeezing her own staff.

The six inch long length of metal lengthened smoothly to about six feet. Twirling the staff expertly in her hand, she ducked her head and began the fight. Her body easily fell into the moves her father and mother had both taught her.

There was a reason Jean-Luc, Patriarch of the Thieves Guild, had literally cried when she had told him that she had no intention of joining the 'family business'.

****************************

Vincent stared from the stick in his hand, to the silvery flash that was landing man after man onto his face, back, and ass, to the slender girl wielding it. She was good, really, really good.

She was also a Thief. And she had given him one of her weapons.

His mother had always told him that anything touched by a Thief was unclean – unless it touched their blood, then it was sacred – but the large number of soldiers closing in on him, raising rifles as they came, told him to use the damn stick.

He'd boil his hands later.

****************************

When they finally made it through the sea of enemy forces, they were then obliged to sneak into something that vaguely resembled Fort Knox.

Cicero had tried to lay out a plan, but had to stop when he realized that the Thief was no longer with them. Sniper watched in amusement as the uptight young man snarled furiously to Atlas and Bijou about her 'complete lack of regard for anyone but herself' and had to hold back a laugh when the idiot demanded 'why didn't she tell me what she was doing?'

To this, Bijou had to answer, "She did, Cicero. Four times. You just kept nodding and telling her to shut up and let you think."

"How long ago was that?!"

"About ten minutes ago?"

"_Me voici_."

It was the Thief girl, coming down to land lightly among them, the tiny form of Fatima on her back. "Ah've got her."

Instantly, the monotone female voice of the Danger Room sounded. "Objective completed. Simulation ending."

The dark surroundings vanished into cold metal and the doors opened to let them out into the hall where Talon and Iceman were waiting to grade them.

"Not too bad," Iceman said brightly. "Cicero, you've gotta start listening to your teammates. You should have known that sneaking into a high security base would be right up Kestrel's alley. And Sniper, good first run. But don't forget you're on a team now."

"You were not in sync," Talon said flatly. "Cicero, if you cannot keep track of your team, perhaps you are not ready to be a captain.

"Bijou, Atlas, that was a good strategy to stick together, but you cannot forget about the others.

"Sniper, you have a lot potential, but you are not a one man show. There are others around you who are there to help you, do not forget that. And do forget that the X-Men do not take unnecessary casualties. Your actions would have lead to the deaths of seven soldiers. That is unacceptable; you were trained as an Assassin. You should have more control."

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from retaliating, but his ears perked up at what she said next.

"Kestrel. Remember your time limit on your strength and invulnerability. You cut it very close. However, you showed great presence of mind to bring down the airborne threats first and then going to provide backup to your teammate. There is nothing much I can say about your performance in the retrieving of the hostage –"

"If dat's da case," the Thief girl said, cutting her off. "C'n Ah get da permission ta take dis _petite fille_ back ta her room an' get da rest o' _mes petites_ ready foh school?"

She motioned to the sleepy looking girl still cradled in her arms. "If Ah don' get started soon, we all be late."

"Very well. You may go."

Vincent watched as his target, her uniform fraying badly at the seams, began to walk away, then stop.

"Ah, Vincent," she said, looking over her shoulder at him. "Are y' plannin' on stealin' mah staff, or may Ah have it back?"

She dared to hint that he was a Thief? His fingers gripped his knife longingly and he tossed the staff back. She caught it easily, then turned and left.

He wondered if he should use rubbing alcohol or boiling water to cleanse his hands of her. Of course, if it had been up to his mother, he would have cut his hands off after he cut her throat. Good thing he wasn't going to tell her.

**Please review!!**

**_A tout a l'heure, mon frère _- "See you later, my brother"**

**_Quoi_ - "What"**

**_Dis _- "Hey"**

**_Me voici_ - "Here I am"**


	12. Chapter 12

**My heart swells with happiness! So many reviews!!! Thank you!**

**Here is your reward!!**

Chapter 11

Noelle counted out the lunches. Ten sandwiches. Six peanut butter and jelly, two ham and cheese – one with crust and one without – and two grilled cheeses. Four apple sauce cups, five puddings – one vanilla, one tapioca, one butterscotch, and two chocolate – and one fruit cup. Ten bags of Fritos. Ten juice boxes – six fruit punch and four apple juice.

"Is that all of them?" Sarah asked, setting out the lunchboxes.

"Yup, all ten."

The Danger Room session – which began at five-thirty in the morning – for her had ended at just past six-thirty, enough time for her to take Fatima back to the girls' room and wake up all the younger girls and boys, then jump into the shower before Sarah came up.

Now her long auburn hair was up in a slightly damp ponytail, she was dressed in a layered tank top – green on top with white under – blue jeans, a thick black belt and her biker boots. Gold confirmation bracelet around her right wrist, gold earrings, and the crucifix she had gotten when she was a child completed her look. Her messenger bag lay on a nearby stool with her prized leather jacket lying on the counter and her charges sat around the kitchen table eating their breakfast before it was time for them all to pile into the van for Storm to drive them to school.

As usual, the kitchen was packed, teens scrambling to get at the cereal, granola bars, toast, and other breakfast goodies.

Tossing a quick glance at the clock, Noelle bit back a curse and began packing the lunchbags, calling out names as she went.

It was seven fifteen.

Forty-five minutes before the school bells all across Bayville rang, which meant that there were less than thirty minutes to get the kids ready to leave.

Her eyes lingered on Jake's mismatched socks and shoes, Alison's unbrushed hair, Tony's inside-out shirt, and Jeff's mud-stained shirt and face. Time for some executive action!

"Alrahght, _mes petites_," she announced. "We leavin' foh' school in twen'y minutes. 'Ow many o' y' brushed y' teeth?"

Only Dawn and Fatima raised their hands.

Noelle groaned.

"Le's go! Finish y'breakfast, we got work to do!"

****************************

Vincent was just walking into the kitchen with Alexei and Julia when something slender, sweet-smelling, and altogether feminine ran straight into him. Turning on the charm, he looked down, "_Bonjour, belle mademoiselle_ – you."

"_Moi_," the Thief girl said briskly. "Beg y' pardon, Vincent. 'Scuse meh."

She began to walk past him, then stopped. He felt her fingers around his wrist, carefully avoiding the rapidly healing burns he had given himself when washing off the touch of her staff. A shiver of repulsion ran up his spine as she leaned close to him and whispered into his ear.

"Stop bein' such _un idiot_, Vincent. Y' t'ink y' _Maman_ cares what y' touch so long as y'finish y'mission? Stop killin' y'self an' grow a brain."

He snarled and his hand went for his knife, but before he could open it and do what he had come to do, slender fingers halted that hand as well.

"What did Ah jus' say 'bout bein' stupid? An' Ah tell y' dis, Vincent Boudreaux. Y' try an' kill meh in front o' mah kids an' _je vous vais tuer_."

His eyes snapped to hers. There was nothing remotely teasing or friendly in her eyes. There wasn't even the anger he had seen when she had broken up the fight between him and her brother. There was nothing but hard emerald-silver steel. Cold resolve.

She would indeed kill him if he hurt her kids. And she would do it quickly and without regret.

"Noelle?" whimpered an overly skinny girl with thick glasses and hair that looked rather like an angry cat. "Are you okay?"

The Thief girl's stance relaxed and her eyes softened. She released him and turned to look at the children crowded behind her. "'Course, _ma chérie_, just had ta yell a little at Vincent foh' gettin' hurt so much!"

With that, his enemy took both the bespectacled girl's hand and a tiny red haired girl's hand and _skipped_ away, calling behind her, "_Allons, mes petites!_ We got a couple more t'ings ta do!"

The kids laughed at the sight of their caretaker skipping like a six year old and ran after her.

For his part, Vincent was more than a little pissed. More because she had been right, then that she had touched him and stopped his attack. He was glad that his companions did not try to mention what had just happened. Still scowling, he accepted the toast and coffee that Alexei offered him with muttered thanks.

It wasn't until he had to leave to retrieve his backpack did he notice a smell lingering in his nose. It was sweet and rich, not as thick as the rose perfumes his mother loved so much. It was wilder.

Magnolias. And it was her.

He blew out hard.

It was only later that he would realize that the damn girl left her scent _everywhere_. Damn magnolias.

*****************************

"Okay, listen up Vincent!" Julia said in tones suggesting they were about to storm the U.S. embassy in Iraq. "I'm going to give you the low-down on everything you need to know about Bayville High."

They, meaning Alexei, Julia, Vassily, James, and Vincent, were in Alexei's huge, tank of a red truck, on their way to Vincent's first day of official school and Julia had twisted around in the front seat to brief him.

"Rule number one: Principal Kelly hates all mutants. You remember that senator a few years ago who tried to push all that crazy mutant identification and registration laws through?"

"_Oui_." None of that senator's aides had made it out of the French Quarter alive – his mother had seen to that.

"Well, that's our principal. Don't speak to him, don't smile at him, don't get anywhere near him or else he'll give you detention, or try and get you suspended or expelled."

"Sounds lahke a nahce guy," he commented sarcastically.

Vassily laughed darkly beside him. "The man is a lunatic. He tried to expel Bridget for cheating."

Vincent blinked. "But don't dat girl know everythin'?"

"He tried to say that she was cheating," Julia explained flatly. "That 'our children should not be exposed to such an influence as this'."

"It did not work, of course," Alexei said from the driver's seat. "Bridget's father flew in from Geneva and threatened to sue the entire school system for blatant discrimination."

James chipped in, "It was funny to see how fast the school board gave an apology to the sheila and her dad."

"Who's da _père_ o' _la fille_?"

"You know the Bank of Dufour?"

"Yeah? It's one o' dem secret Swiss bank account places, ain't it?" Wait, wasn't Bridget's last name…?

"Uh-huh. Well, her family runs the bank."

He let out a low whistle and thought of Bridget's latest and very expensive Parisian fashionable clothes. "Wow."

"Rule number two," Julia went on. "We aren't allowed to use our powers – unless there are, like, special circumstances."

"Lahke what?"

"Like, like, someone'll die if we don't. Stuff like that."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. What stupidity – did they actually follow these crappy rules?

"Rule number three," she continued. "We're not allowed on any of the sports teams.

"Number four, don't get too good of grades – they tried to get me for that – and don't get really bad grades.

"Number five, don't try to argue with the teachers, just hand in your homework on time.

Number six –"

"_Merde_, 'ow many damn rules are dere?"

Julia continued with her list – the guys adding remarks or other advice until they were in sight of the school.

It was a respectable brick building with hundreds of students milling about. One look told him all he needed to know: _Ennuyeuse comme enfer_.

As they pulled up to the last stoplight before the parking lot, a slick, gorgeous, green and silver motorcycle purred up beside them. The rider turned to look at their car as he pulled up and suddenly revved. His ride's engine let out a delicious roar and Alexei laughed out loud and pressed down on the gas. The truck snarled and the rider threw back his head and gave a laugh that was completely drowned out.

Vincent suddenly leaned forward; he recognized that bike – it had been in the garage when they had washed all the cars on Saturday. "Who's da owner o' dat _belle moto_?"

"That what?" Julia looked out the window. "D'you mean the motorcycle? It's Noelle's."

He blinked very fast and stared at the slender form on the elegant machine. "Dat's… her?"

"'Course, mate," James said brightly, leaning over to wave at the figure, who waved back cheerfully. "Noelle doesn't let anyone touch her bike, only Logan and Lucien, and them just barely."

He could tell it was female now, the leather jacket she was wearing was covering an unmistakable feminine form, flat stomach, graceful swell of breasts…

Snorting, he turned away, but couldn't help it as his eyes wandered back to watch as the Thief girl drove off when the light turned green.

_Nahce bike. Wonder how much she had ta steal ta get it? Or did she just steal da whole damn bike in one go?_

They turned into the school parking lot just in time for him to see the Thief girl pull off her helmet, unzip her leather jacket and dismount gracefully.

By the time they had parked and gotten out the truck, the girl had disappeared and several guys were gathered around her bike, ugly faces longing but no one daring to go forward. Interesting.

"C'mon, mate," James said cheerfully. "You need your schedule. I'll show you where the office is."

The detour to the office to get his schedule told Vincent just about everything he needed to know about the school. Julia had been right. Almost every student turned to watch as they passed, eyes darting from James to him. Their dark looks made him stand a little taller – no small feat considering he stood easily at six feet – and walk a little smoother. It was like walking through the French Quarter on Mardi Gras, and passing a gang of Thieves. Just look straight ahead until the last minute, then glance at them coolly. _Jus' try it, _mes amis_, try it. I ain' no pushover._

They made it to the office unchallenged and then he was treated to the suspicious glances of the staff, who stared at him coldly. The woman who gave him his schedule surprised him by smiling brightly at him. She was tiny, wrinkled, and bent with thick short white hair curled around her face.

"Well, aren't you a handsome one," she said kindly. "May I assume that you are the student Pr. Xavier told us about?"

He grinned. "_Oui, Madame_."

She beamed. "Very nice to make you acquaintance, Mister…" she consulted a piece of paper "…Boudreaux?"

"Dat's meh."

"Wonderful. My name is Mrs. Passon and _this_ is your schedule." She handed him the paper as her twinkling blue eyes fell on James. "And how are you, James?"

The Brit returned her smile. "Great, and yourself?"

"Just wonderful. Make sure you keep an eye on your friend. Oh! But look at me prattling away! You'd both better high-tail it to class!"

*****************************

"Room 146… Room 146… where da hell is room 146?" Vincent stared hopelessly from his schedule to the labyrinth of hallways before him. This was ridiculous! He could navigate the dark back alleys of New Orleans in pitch black, half blinded! How could he not find one crappy history class?

He walked down a hallway for what felt like the millionth time.

AHA! There it was!

Room 146.

He pulled it open and was immediately greeted by a classroom full of people turning to stare at him. At the front of the class was a short, balding man who looked rather annoyed. "And you are?"

"Vincent Boudreaux, _Monsieur_."

"Alright, Mr. Boudreaux, you've missed most of my useless babble concerning the syllabus but whatever you missed you can read." The man handed several sheets of paper neatly stapled together. "But let me give you the long and short of it: I do not read the syllabus to my students; you should be able to read at this point in your life and it wastes valuable class time and minutes of my life. Your head is mine if your phone goes off in my class and if you are not prepared to read and work in here, there is the door – don't let it hit you in the ass on the way out.

"Please take a seat by the lovely lady over there."

Vincent turned around to follow the man's pointed finger and scowled. The Thief girl – couldn't anything go his way? He stalked to the desk and sank into it.

The teacher started back to the desk before pausing. "Oh. Yeah. I'm Mr. Cox. Welcome to AP History."

*****************************

The rest of the class passed in a haze of textbook assignments, and historical dates and unfamiliar names. To his credit, Mr. Cox made the class interesting with his innuendos and references to everything from Arnold Schwarzenegger to Charlie the Unicorn.

Still, it was hard to concentrate with the Thief girl sitting next to him.

Thankfully, the class was only an hour and soon he was off, new history book in hand, to his next class.

Math with Mr. Baker in Room 253.

A quick whistle caught his attention and he saw the Thief girl hurrying up to him. "Easy dere, 'Ssassin boy. Da Proffesah put y' in da same classes as us foh a reason. Lemme see y'schedule."

She didn't wait for him to hand it over and there were too many witnesses to get rid of her. "Lessee… Y'gonna wanna go upstairs. _Deux cent_ usually means second floor. Jus' look foh one o' us standin' outside waitin' foh y'. Later!"

He glared after her, but grudgingly took her advice.

The next two classes he was able to find solely by his mutants standing outside, waiting for him.

Next came lunch. He was saved from wondering where to sit by James who once again jumped up and down and shouted for him to join them. 'Them' turned out to be Alexei, the huge black guy Denzel, and the Thief boy but he was too relieved to see familiar faces to care.

"How's it goin'?" Denzel asked, taking a swig of his soda.

"_Très bizarre_."

Then it was time to leave to his next class.

Finally his final class came in room 103 and he was alone in it. It was Art and it was like seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. The teacher, a Miss Fiennes, grinned at them from around an easel and told them that they would be journeying into the realm of dreams.

"Grab a piece of paper and show me what you see in your dreams! Let me see it at the end of class!"

Vincent grinned and got to work.

He had always been a pretty good artist – how had the Professor known?

When the final bell rang, he triumphantly handed in a roughly sketched view of a girl's face as she looked down into dark, murky waters. Her face was unfocused and blurry, but her eyes were wide and questioning.

"Beautiful!" Miss Fiennes said cheerfully. "Wonderful detail! Who is she?"

Shifting slightly, Vincent shrugged. "Jus' a girl Ah knew a while ago."

The teacher beamed. "It's a wonderful start!"

So maybe school wasn't so bad, he thought as he grabbed his backpack.

Or maybe it was, he amended as the terrible weight on his textbooks nearly tipped him over.

***************************

Grunting painfully, he dragged his laden backpack to the parking lot, thinking longingly of the locker he couldn't open. This meant that he had no choice but lug his history textbook, math book, English textbook, the assigned book _The Scarlet Letter_, his French textbook, and science book all the way back to the parking lot. Or at least try to.

He had barely made it halfway across the lawn when he was swarmed.

About thirty girls were around him, fluttering eyelashes, thrusting chests out, and basically showing themselves off with all the ease of school sluts. But their attention was salve to his bruised ego and he made the most of them.

"_Bonjour, belles femmes_," he said with a slow, lazy smile.

They all swooned.

He smirked.

"Are you new here?" breathed one very well endowed blonde, pressing up to him. "I've never seen you around here before."

"_Oui_, Ah jus' moved here." He did not mention the Institute.

"You know French?" asked a statuesque brunette.

"O' all kinds," he said with a suggestive grin. "But where are mah manners? _Je m'appelle Vincent Boudreaux_. I's a pleasure ta make da acquaintance o' such _belle femmes_."

It took a few minutes to get out of the crowd, but after a kissed hands and seductive smiles, he managed to leave the group an enchanted puddle of girlish hormones and get back to Alexei's truck.

"Having fun?" Julia asked sardonically.

"_Oui_."

**Whew! Lot of French in this one! **

**What do you think?**

**REVIEW!!!**

_**mes petites**_** – "my little ones"**

_**Bonjour, belle mademoiselle**_** – "Hello, beautiful miss"**

_**je vous vais tuer**_** – "I am going to kill you"**

_**ma chérie**_** – "My dear"**

_**Allons, mes petites**_** – "Let's go, my little ones"**

_**La fille**_** – "the girl"**

_**Ennuyeuse comme enfer**_**. – "Boring as hell."**

_**Belle moto **_**– "beautiful motorcycle"**

_**Très bizarre**_** – "Very weird"**

_**Bonjour, belles femmes**_** – "Hello, beautiful women"**

_**Je m'appelle Vincent Boudreaux **_**– "My name is Vincent Boudreaux"**


	13. Chapter 13

**Has anyone ever heard of rain day? It is the greatest thing EVER! Besides snow days, weekends and all major holidays.**

**Here's the next chapter.**

Chapter 12

Noelle tucked her messenger bag securely against her leg as she swung a leg over her bike. Twisting her long auburn hair into a hasty bun, she pulled on her helmet and snapped down the visor. She didn't bother trying to zip up her jacket – it was almost eighty degrees and she didn't want to sweat too much.

Just about to rev up her bike, her cell phone started vibrating in her jeans pocket. Sighing, she leaned back and took it out of her pocket and flipped it open.

"'Lo?"

A familiar voice sounded in her ear. "_Bonjour, mon petite._"

She grinned. "_Bonjour, Papa._ Why're y' callin' from _Tante_ Mattie's phone?"

"'Cause y'_Tante_ still don' how to use it. _La rebelle femme_ still won' read da damn instructions."

"You don' read da instructions, Papa. Why should she?"

"'Cause dis ain't mah first cellphone – " her father's voice trailed off as someone spoke in the background.

"_Une petite moment, ma chérie_," he said to the other voice.

"Mama wants ta talk ta meh?"

"_Oui_, but tell meh 'ow everythin's goin'. Any new studen's?"

She groaned to herself. Lucien had told them about Vincent.

"Y've talked ta Lucien."

There was a small scuffle on the other end and suddenly her mother was yelling at her.

"Noelle Caroline LeBeau! What the hell are you doin' flirtin' with an Assassin?! Do ya have any idea how stupid that was?"

And Rogue went ranting on and on until she suddenly interrupted herself with a deep moan. "Stop that, _mmmmm!_"

Noelle groaned again. "Could y'all wait ta start makin' out until _afteh_ Ah've hung up?"

Her father, Remy, came back on the line. "Gon' have ta let y' go _ma cœur_. Don' do anythin' I forgot I did an' look afteh Claire. Watch y'back an' Lucien's. _Au revoir_."

There was a deep throaty moan and Noelle snapped her phone closed with a sigh, shaking her head. "Grown man an' his wife can' even keep dere pants on long enough ta talk ta dere own daughter."

She shoved the phone into her pocket, made a note to upend an entire cup of powdered cayenne peppers into her brother's coffee tomorrow, and set her motorcycle to roaring. Pulling out carefully, the young woman weaved through the parking lot and swung out into the afternoon traffic. Then, throwing caution to the proverbial wind, she revved the powerful engine and shot off like a bullet from a gun.

Noelle had been flying since she was twelve years old. To her there was nothing better than throwing herself into open air and feeling the glorious leap in her stomach as she ascended faster than the Blackbird, then fell faster than a rock. But there was definitely something to be said for barreling down crowded city streets on a well-cared for motorcycle. The power in the machine beneath her made her pulse pound and her heart rise in a different way than flying did. She just barely kept herself from throwing her helmet off and enjoying the feeling of the wind tearing at her face. Logan would skin her alive and she had too much homework for that.

In just a few minutes, she had left the crowded streets behind in favor of the back roads that would take her the long way around to the Institute. With a wild laugh, she pushed the engine to its limit, taking turns so fast that anyone else would have gone spinning to disaster – but Noelle had learned to drive from her parents and cousins on back country roads and had no fear of winding roads.

It took little time to reach the Institute's front gates and she pulled up to the garage just as the children were pouring out of the minivan Storm used to transport them around the city.

"_Bonjour, mes petites_!" she called merrily, waving.

Instantly she was surrounded by starry eyed kids who were all awed at the sight of a real motorcycle and someone who would actually let them touch it – touching Mr. Logan or Ms. Laura's motorcycles spelled big trouble – though she would never take them riding with her the way she took her sister. But they all loved her anyway.

And she returned it in spades.

Setting her bike in the garage, she took off her helmet and held it under her arm as she walked back with her kids and Storm.

"So, mes amis, how was school?"

* * *

By the time Vincent dumped everything onto his bed and stared at it all – he had to admit that he had a whole new respect for pack mules.

"D'y' really carry all dis crap around all day?" he asked his roommate.

"Nah, I put the stuff I don't need in my locker."

Well that didn't help his situation at all! "An' what if y'can' get da damn locker open?"

"Then you get Lucien or Noelle to help you. Or, in your case, you can just get a new bag and lug everything around every day."

He huffed darkly. "_Merci_."

"Don't mention it, mate."

Ask one of _them_ for help? No way in hell.

"I am going to Walmart to pick up a few things!" Edward Worthington shouted, jingling his car keys as he walked down the hall. "Anyone want to come?"

Vincent stood up, "Guess I should go an' pick up another bag."

* * *

The next few days passed in a whir of classes, Danger Room sessions, and homework. Despite his best efforts, Vincent found himself rather enjoying the easy familiarity of the routine – it was getting easier to set out his targets' schedules.

The youngest got up at around 6:30, made her bed and got dressed. It took approximately thirty minutes for her to leave her room for breakfast. She usually ate cereal or whatever her brother or sister cooked. At twenty minutes 'til eight, she rode to the middle school with the other middle schoolers in a minivan driven by one of the adults. She was in school until three in the afternoon, at which time she went out to be driven back to the Institute with her friends. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, she spent from four o'clock to five-thirty in the afternoon in the back gardens, training with the other students just beginning their training. She seemed far more coordinated than most of the others, easily picking things up that took her classmates days to learn – he chalked that up to the training she had undoubtedly received in New Orleans. After that she returned to the Institute and took a shower before dinner. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, she began her homework immediately in the library or her room with her roommates – the two Japanese girls Sayuri and James' sister Saya – and often helped with dinner. Then it was a couple of hours of goofing off or doing homework before she wandered off to bed at around ten o' clock.

The eldest got up early for Danger Room sessions on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, or for a run with his sister on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and then took a shower before breakfast. He then left for school on his droolworthy red motorcycle – what was this family's obsession with motorcycles? Due to their going to the same school, Vincent was able to map out the Thief's schedule: science, English, history, math, lunch, Russian, music, and computer science. He came back for the Danger Room sessions on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons or went to the auto shop he worked at. Either way, he usually showed up at dinner unless he had dinner duty. Then he spent the next several hours in the library or in his room doing homework or playing poker with his friends, going to bed at around eleven.

The Thief girl got up early everyday either for a Danger Room session or her run with her brother and then hurried back upstairs to wake her charges, then jump into the shower before her roommate came up. Then she saw to it that the kids got ready for school, that they ate breakfast, got their lunch money or made their lunches herself, and saw them onto the van that would take them to school. After that, she rode her gorgeous bike to the high school, where she went through the classes of history, Italian, psychology, music, lunch, art history, science, and English. She somehow managed to always to arrive at the Institute in time to welcome the kids and send them off to get a snack and start their homework while she went to a Danger Room session. When she didn't have afternoon Danger Room sessions, she joined them in the library and did her own homework or helped them with theirs. She usually helped with dinner – much to the displeasure of Vincent's ravenous hunger – and sat with her children at their smaller table in a corner of the dining room. She got them all ready for bed and usually stayed with them as they watched an hour of television before she ushered them upstairs for a bedtime story and bedtime at eight-thirty. Then it was to her room for homework or to the rec room to watch television for an hour or so, then she either joined her brother and his friends for poker or retreated to the library to write in a small black book. She usually went to bed at eleven.

The problem was, even though he knew their schedules and was coming to know their habits – such as the youngest's trends of long-sleeved shirts, long pants and skirts, and the gloves she seemed so fond of, never taking them off – he could not get them alone. They were always with friends – even when the Thief girl sat alone in the library, at least one teacher sat nearby – usually Logan reading the evening paper.

He didn't dare try and attack any of them in the open – too many people would come to their aid and, as good as he was, he could not defeat everyone.

It was on Friday that he realized that he was actually coming to enjoy school. Enjoy being a normal high school student – though quite a bit of what he was learning he had never heard of before. He especially enjoyed the attention lavished on him by his female classmates.

Even better than that was his art class. He had always had a good hand for drawing but his mother had never seen at as something to encourage, scolding him whenever he tried to exercise his talent and insisting that he go and practice his aim or his hand to hand fighting.

Just that morning he had received his new uniform – a handsome leather suit of dark green and black with a dark red X emblazoned on the right shoulder – and thoroughly basked in the admiration of the female population of the Institute when he tried it on.

It really was a shame that it would be ending soon.

Or maybe not.

If he couldn't get them alone…

Wait.

Surely… surely… surely he could get the two older ones alone during their morning runs on Tuesdays and Thursday? Could he handle two Thieves by himself?

If he was careful… he had been trained in the skill of ambushing…

Vincent Boudreaux gritted his teeth.

Tuesday.

_Watch yourselves, Thieves._

Rather unfortunately, _Monsieur Boudreaux_ hadn't been at the Institute long enough to learn one of the cardinal rules of Xavier Institute: Nothing ever goes according to plan.

**Uh-oh... what could happen?**

**Review and find out!**

_**La rebelle femme **_**– "the stubborn woman"**

_**Une petite moment, ma chérie**_** – "One quick moment, my dear"**


	14. Chapter 14

**Alright. So... Yeah.**

**Read and Review Please!**

Chapter 13

That Friday afternoon, there was a big black car sitting in front of the Institute when everyone got back from school.

When Vincent entered with James, he saw a tall, good looking man in his early forties holding a plain, metal briefcase speaking with the professor.

"Who's dat?" he asked his friend.

"Dunno, looks familiar though."

"Oh. My. God," whispered Julia, freezing besides them. "_Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!"_

"Calm down, _petite_! Who is it?"

The small girl raised a trembling finger to point at the stranger and choked out, "T-t-tony… Stark!"

Tony Stark, multibillionaire, CEO of Stark Industries, the legendary Ironman, was standing in the Institute's entrance hall. He turned to look at them and smiled at them. "Hi."

Julia squealed, went tomato-red, and dashed off towards the library, leaving Vincent, James, Vassily and Alexei to stare at this extremely strange visitor.

Professor Xavier took pity on them and explained. "Mr. Stark is here to speak to Noelle."

The Thief girl?

"Did someone call fo' _moi_?" It was the Thief girl with redheaded Summers girl balanced on her hip.

Tony Stark looked and smiled at her. "Hi Noelle."

She grinned at him. "_Bonjour, Monsieur Stark_. Good ta see y' again."

"Likewise, Noelle. I have what you asked for." He proffered her the box. "Would you like to see it?"

Vincent found himself leaning forward in fascination. What could a man like Tony Stark possibly have to give to someone like Noelle LeBeau?

She seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Ah'm sorry, _Monsieur_, but what da hell are y' talkin' about?"

"You remember when we met?"

The girl grinned and nodded. "Y' were fallin' outta da sky – couldn' control y' new suit fo' sh- beans." She abruptly turned her attention to the children gathered around her and set the girl she was holding on the ground. "Lissen, _mes petites_, Ah gotta finish talkin' ta _Monsieur Stark_ here so why don' y'all go an' see if Miss Jubes baked y' any cookies. I be dere in a little."

The kids all ran off, chattering excitedly about cookies.

"Yes," Stark continued with a reminiscent smile. "I was having some trouble with the new propulsion system and you kept me from crashing."

"_Oui_, an' I took y' home. But wha's da box for? Didn' ask y' for anythin'."

The man laughed lightly. "Not quite true. While you were bypassing my security to get me into my house, I asked you if there was anything I could do to repay you."

She blinked at him. "How da hell d' y' remember dat? Y' had a concussion da size o' _Monsieur Piotr_!"

He chuckled. "You told me that you would consider my debt completely repaid if I could create a uniform for you that could withstand speeds of over 500mph and 100Gs." The billionaire held out the box. "_Voila_. Three changes."

"Professah?" she asked, not taking her eyes off Stark.

"It is quite alright, Noelle," Xavier assured her. "I have thoroughly questioned him and everything is perfectly safe. Go ahead."

The young woman took the box, walked over to set it on a decorative table, and opened it. Her face fell into outright shock.

"Will it fit?" Stark asked, going over to stand beside her. "I made it to fit someone approximately five foot six or five foot ten, between a hundred ten to a hundred and twenty five pounds."

"Y' askin' meh if Ah'm heavier den one-twenty-five?" she asked, not taking her eyes off what was in the box. "'Cause dat's _très impoli, tu sais._"

"What is it, Noelle?" Vassily asked.

She pulled out a strange, leathery uniform. It was jet black, silver, and dark green and seemed very well made. "'S mah new uniform."

"It looks very nice," Alexei said in approval.

The Thief turned to the man who had delivered it to her. "_Merci beaucoup_. I's perfect."

Stark grinned and shoved his hands into his pockets in a boyish gesture. "Think nothing of it. I had fun – never thought cloth could withstand the kind of forces you were talking about but there it is! Actually, I was talking with your Professor here about maybe offering my services in providing uniforms for those who… are tougher on them than others."

She smiled brightly and shook hands with him. "T'ank y' again. So much. Ah better go an' make sure mah kids ain't burnin' da kitchen down."

* * *

It was today at around the same time that three things happened right after another – all interconnected.

* * *

An electric guitar solo ringtone sent Alexei Rasputin digging through his backpack and drawing out his cellphone.

"Hello?"

"Alexei!"

"Mother?"

"Your sister! Sofya! She's gone!"

* * *

Somewhere, not so very far away, a young woman wrapped her emaciated arms around her equally wasted legs and curled up on the hard surface that served her as a bed. It was hopeless.

There was nothing left for her but to starve.

She closed her eyes, blocking out the sounds of crying and cries for help, and dreamed of her family.

* * *

Bridget looked at the clock on her cell phone.

3:48PM.

It was time.

* * *

Vincent was just mapping out the course the Thief girl and her brother took on their morning walks, in the hallway right outside Professor X's library when Alexei and Vassily came hurtling down the hallway. Alexei slammed his fist on the door so hard that the oak door flew off its hinges with a crash.

"Professor!" the strongman cried, ignoring the door completely. "My sister! Sofya!"

"What is it?" Xavier asked, before moaning. "Please, the both of you, quiet your thoughts. All the yelling is disturbing."

"Sofya is gone!" Vassily wailed. "The convent called our parents! They asked if Sofya wasn't coming back this year – they said she hasn't been there since before last Christmas!"

Vincent was on his feet by now. He had heard of Sofya of course, she was these two's sister, older than Vassily, but younger than Alexei. Both huge Russians said that she was the most beautiful girl to ever come out of Russia.

He didn't know – he didn't care. But this did sound rather interesting.

And how the hell didn't you notice that one of your kids was missing for almost a full year?

"I will check with Cerebro immediately."

"You will not find her, Professor Charles Xavier."

It was Bridget Defour. She was dressed in plain black pants with Gucci boots and a crisp white shirt and was watching proceedings with her customary half-amused, half neutral expression.

"Do you know where she is, Bridget?" Xavier asked.

"Yes."

"Please tell us."

"Very well. She is being held with five other mutants in a secret facility in the Appalachian Mountains. The coordinates are –"

"Wait."

Vincent had never heard Alexei sound so dangerous.

"Did you know about this?"

"Your sister being held by a private group of scientists? Yes."

"No, Alexei! Vassily!" the Professor shouted as both huge young men lunged at the slender girl.

A deep rumble sounded and a blast of pure sound threw the two furious Russians off course. The Thief boy was sprinting towards them. "What da hell, _mes amis_?"

"She knew! She knew!" was all Vassily could say, trying to get to the slender young woman standing calmly by the door.

"Knew what? Don't she know everythin'?"

"Sofya! Sofya has been in a prison for almost a year and she said nothing! She let our sister rot!"

The Professor wheeled himself to stand firmly between the aggressive young men and Bridget. "Getting angry at Bridget will not solve the problem at hand. Lucien?"

"_Ouais_?"

"If you would be so kind as to alert the staff and –"

"No."

"Bridget? What is it?"

"The staff cannot go. Only Wolverine, Cicero, Atlas, Red Star, Madonna, Blayze, Backlash, Kestrel, Bijou, Wildcat, and Sniper may go. No one else goes."

"Did you see this, Bridget?"

The Swiss girl turned her pale blue eyes on the Professor. "I saw that on August 21st of this year that Bridget Adrienne Defour, age 16, would reveal the location of one Sofya Illyana Rasputin to her brothers, Vassily –"

"Just get to the point!" Alexei roared.

"I saw that the coordinates where Sofya Illyana Rasputin is being held is at 39.0533181067413 latitude by -79.5355224609375 longitude, deep in the mountains of Kentucky, United States."

"Did you see whether or not we would kill you?" Vassily snarled, his normally gentle blue eyes wild with fury.

She looked up at him calmly. "No. You will not kill me, Vassily Rasputin. You will not speak to me for several months and you will never really like me again, but you will not hurt me."

"We do not have time for this," the Professor said sternly. "Thank you for your help Bridget."

"I will wait for you here until you return from briefing the team," she said, going to sit in the chair. "Good-bye Alexei Rasputin, Vassily Rasputin, Lucien LeBeau and Vincent Boudreaux. I will see you return to the mansion."

It was only later that Vincent would realize just what that statement meant – Bridget "Delphi" Defour knew they were all coming back from the mission. That was encouraging, right?

But bodies could be returned to the Institute too. That was not so encouraging.

* * *

In less than forty-five minutes, the X-Men Bridget had named, including Vincent in his uniform, were all coming into the confines of the huge, sleek black jet called the Blackbird.

The girl Julia, who now called herself Bijou, squealed, making everyone jump. "OH MY GOD! NOELLE?!"

The Thief girl paused as she went to sit in the copilot's chair. "_Quoi_?"

"Is that your new uniform?"

It was. The Thief girl was encased in a slick uniform of jet black of leather that clung to her shapely legs, and her sweet ass. The pants ended at her hips, at which point, there was a tiny line of bare, tanned flesh. The top was in the shape of a huge silver and green X that covered her breasts and most of her abs, and left the rest of her torso to be covered by slick black. There were no shoulders or arms built into the top, instead dark green wraps of cloth went around her elbows and slender black gloves covered her hands. She wore boots too clunky to be considered completely fashionable, but too slick to be considered combat boots.

All in all, she looked pretty damn hot.

Damn stupid male hormones.

"_Ouais_, y'lahke it?"

"Love it! It's so you!" Bijou looked turned to look at him and then back at the girl. "Oh my God! You and Vincent! You match!"

This made him jerk upright to stare from his uniform to the Thief's. His uniform consisted of black combat boots that went up almost to his knees, black pants that looked like leather but felt more like denim, and a skin tight black muscle shirt that felt suspiciously like slick Kevlar, covered by a black leather jacket with dark green trim at the shoulders and along the front in a sort of X insignia across his chest.

They did match.

He felt like retching.

But Bijou still wasn't finished. "You guys totally look like those figure skating couples!"

Alright, now he was seriously fighting the urge to rip off the jacket, but his knife was in one of the pockets, along with the razor disks that he had gotten from the armory.

The Thief girl laughed. "Jus' don' expect me ta get anywhere near a pool of ice. We Cajuns don' do ice o' snow, do we, _mon frère_?"

"Ah'd sooner take on a pack o' gators," her brother quipped lightly, several seats in front of him. "'Don' do ice."

"Enough of the chitchat!" Wolverine barked, marching over and taking the pilot's seat. "Strap yourselves in!

"Mouse, we ready for takeoff?"

"In just _un moment_, _mon ami_."

And in just another moment, the entire jet shivered as the engines roared to life.

"Let's go get us a mutant back."

**Thanks for reading! Now kindly review!!!**

_**Voila – **_**"There it is"**

_**très impoli, tu sais**_** – "****very impolite, you know"**

_**Ouais**_**? – ****"Yeah?"**

_**Quoi**_**? – "What?"**


	15. Chapter 15

**Shout out to Chellerbelle and John() for their faithful reviewing - you guys are awesome!!! The rest of you reading this are awsome too - but you'd be awesomer if you'd review!**

**For your consideration... CHAPTER 14:**

Chapter 14

It took less than an hour to get to the base and the sun was just starting to sink into the west. The landscape was endless forests and mountains as far as the eye could see – it made Vincent feel rather small. Two of the mountains had arisen and squished against each other, creating a V-shape of cliffs; it was in this V shape that the base was built into.

Good for security, he noted, but bad for escape – there was no way out of a corner unless you wanted to fight your way out.

"Take us down on those forests in front," Cicero ordered.

"Watch it, bub," Wolverine growled. "'Less the Prof said otherwise, I'm leader of this pack."

"Will y'pitbulls shut y'mouths?" the Thief girl snapped. "Ah'm gon' land on da top o' da ridge. Make it harder fo' dem ta see us. Easier fo' us ta sneak in."

Wolverine nodded. "Go for it, Mouse."

In just a few minutes, the Blackbird had ascended sharply to hide behind a grouping of clouds. The Thief apparently wasn't taking any chances on them being seen, and, considering what he knew about anti-aircraft missiles, Vincent had to be glad for that. His stomach leapt as the jet quickly and silently descended, landing smoothly.

"Engines off."

"Nice one, Mouse," Wolverine said. "Alright, here's the plan. Gonna send Cajun and Mouse in first. Couple o' Thieves should be able ta tell us where we're going."

"_Comprends_," the Thief boy said, unstrapping himself from his seat. "_Tu es prêt d'aller pour travailler, petit oiseau?_"

"_Suis-je pas toujours_?"

Vincent watched as the two slipped out, two Thieves in the night.

"Alright," Wolverine said, turning to the rest of them. "Once those two get back, we'll have a way to get in –"

"How y' figure dat?"

"'Cause those two know their business, Knife-boy, now shut up. Like I was sayin', once Cajun and Mouse get back, we'll have a way to get in – probably more than that with Cajun on the ground and Mouse in the air. Squirt –" Wildcat, aka Sarah Masters-Summers – " and Knife'll go with Mouse through whatever high up entrance she finds. You two've got some stealth training – not enough to keep up with Mouse, but close enough."

Biting his tongue, the young Assassin let that slide.

"I want Goldilocks-" Monica Worthington sat up "-Ruski," Vassily sat up – "and Golden Boy staying behind with the Blackbird."

There was an immediate uprising of anger, but the man quickly and easily shut them all up with a growl and a quelling look. "If I say you're going, you're going. If I say you're staying, you're staying. Chances are, when we get out of here, there're gonna be a hell of a lot of guns firing at our backs. Last thing we need is our one way out of here taken out.

"The rest of you, Muscles, Sparkles, and Matches-"Alexei, Julia, and James straightened up –"you're coming with me and Cajun through the front door. Our job is to make as much noise as possible to get everybody's attention off the force going in the back door."

"Small group going in the back door," Wildcat – Sarah – commented.

"Listen, you guys' powers ain't built for causin' a lot of chaos. I just want the three of you getting the prisoners out, a search and rescue mission."

That didn't make him feel any better.

They sat tensely in the dark (Wolverine having switched off the lights), watching the minutes tick by.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen minutes.

Thirty minutes.

Where were they?

Forty-five minutes.

Damn Thieves – they weren't even good at –

"Kestrel's back," Wildcat said quietly, raising her head.

Vincent was about to ask her what she meant when a strange feeling of happiness swept over him. He tried to shove it away, but it sat firmly in his mind, radiating peace.

Empathy.

"So's Backlash," Blayze – James – said softly, as a low whistle sounded inside the soundproof walls of the Blackbird.

Sound manipulation.

"Let's go."

They all stood and ghosted silently out at Wolverine's command. There in the faint light of the crescent moon stood Kestrel and Backlash, half-hidden in the shadows of an old sycamore tree as only Guild-trained Thieves could be.

"Dey's t'ree ways ta get in on da ground," Backlash began, not bothering with pleasantries. "Da garage, da blast doors, or da drain. Mah vote's fo' da garage if we wanna go in loud, da drain if we wanna go in quiet.

"Lotta lights an' guards," he continued, bending down and starting to draw something in the dirt. "Gimme a light, Blayze."

Blayze – James – clenched his fist and then opened it to reveal a dancing orange flame that lit up the sketch Backlash was tracing. "_Voila_."

"_Merci_. Here's da garage. Here's da blast doors. Here's da drain. Dere're guard towers here, here, _et_ here. Lights're focused here an' here. Gate's behind all o' it lahke dis."

Wolverine studied the drawing. "Good thing, you're not in art class, Cajun."

An unrepentant grin split the Thief's face. "So Ah ain't Picasso, sue meh."

"We go in through the garage. More noise that way.

"What's the story, Mouse?"

The Thief girl nodded in the direction of the cliff. "Dere's an air vent carved inta da side o' the cliff. 'F Ah move quick, Ah c'n get inta it. We just lucky that dey ain't got any X gene detectors. Den we'd be well an' truly screwed."

"Could you get two people into that vent?"

Her lips tightened. "Who?"

"Squirt and Knife-boy."

Her clear green-grey eyes flickered over them thoughtfully. She took in Vincent's broad shoulders and Wildcat's tiny frame. "_Oui_, t'ink Ah c'n manage dat."

Wolverine nodded. "Move out, X-Men."

Vincent watched as the Thief girl moved towards him. "Whadya wan', T'ief?"

"Wanna get in an' get out," she responded lightly. "Y' ready _chat sauvage_?"

Wildcat set her jaw and nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

"Sniper?"

"_Quoi_?" he demanded roughly.

"Grab on." She extended an arm towards him and he stepped closer, his skin crawling.

All part of the plan, he had to remind himself. Can't kill her now, the rest of them would be on him in an instant. He could try in the vent.

Yes – he could take on the short, skinny girl and one Thief, definitely –

An arm grabbed his and he was spun around to face two dangerous pairs of dark eyes. Wolverine and Backlash.

Shit.

He kept his face blank.

"Ah'm warnin' y' 'Ssassin," growled the Thief. "'F y' come back an' ma sister don't… Ah will make y' suffer."

"And that ain't even half of what I'll do ta ya," snarled the Wolverine, bearing a startling resemblance to his namesake animal. "If we find the girls… hurt in any way, a suspicious bruise… papercut… and you ain't around, I will hunt you down. I will kill you, Vincent Boudreaux. If Lucien doesn't get there first and blast you to pieces."

Vincent was trapped and he knew it. He had been trained from birth to recognize killers and he was seeing two in front of him right now. If he so much as laid a hand on these girls – he was dead.

"I understand. C'n I get back t' work?"

Turning his back on the two people who wouldn't lose a moment's sleep by stabbing him in it, Sniper walked to the Thief girl and the small girl, Wildcat. "How's dis go?"

"Jus' put y' arm 'round mah shoulders, I hold y' up." She offered him her arm.

Swallowing bile, he put his arm around her shoulders and repressed a shudder as she closed an arm around his waist. Then, quite suddenly, there was a pull and his feet were no longer on the ground. They rose through the air and the Thief girl sighed in pure bliss as she lifted them over the treeline and carried them over the cliff.

_I could just used ta dis_, Sniper thought, reveling in the feeling of flight. He wondered if there was a way to transfer her powers to him.

"Hold on," she ordered, her grip tightening around their waists.

Before he could do much more than wrap his fingers around her slender shoulder, the Thief had somehow managed to flip them upside down as she dove down towards a very small black hole in an otherwise dark rock. It took all of his training to keep from yelling, or even gasping as Wildcat was doing. The younger girl was clinging to Kestrel, her green eyes wide and terrified.

"Y' don' lahke flyin', huh?"

"Just shut up," Wildcat moaned. "And get us on the ground."

They whipped through the air, his heart and stomach flipflopping as they hurtled straight at the hole in the wall. He could see now that it was the stereotypical movie air vent with bars protecting the propellers that churned up the air just inside. Just below the vent was the motion detector.

"Dis is yo' way in?"

"Shut up."

He shot her a look; much as he hated it, she seemed to know what she was doing and she was their ticket in. Her eyes were focused on the spinning blades of the fans.

Oh no. She wasn't gonna –

"Y' goin' first, Sniper," she hissed in his ear even as she readjusted her grip. "Y'got a five second window right… dere! See it? Okay, here we go."

Shit! She was!

The Thief had just shoved him towards the vent. "Grab on!"

Easy. He'd always had the best reflexes of any of the budding Assassins.

For a moment, Vincent was silent as he watched the fan blades whir away. Where was this window she had spoken of?

There!

Was that it?

No time to doubt her now!

He normally wouldn't have taken anything she said as anything but lies, but with two hundred feet between him and the ground, and spinning blades right in front of his face, he had to take her word for it.

His reflexes had him flying through the gap before he had even gotten through half the thought. Body twisting in his usual instinctive way to avoid any unnecessary scratches, he landed lightly on his feet in a cold, dark tunnel.

A quick examination told him that he gotten a very slender cut on his cheek but even as he touched it, the skin was zipping itself up beneath his fingers.

Despite the fact that it was becoming more and more usual for his bruises and cuts to vanish, it was still kinda creepy.

"You in?" came Kestrel's voice, just barely audible over the whir.

"_Ouais_!"

It took less than thirty seconds for Wildcat to come leaping in. However, her leap wasn't nearly as good as his had been and she ended up in a heap with her leg bleeding. "I'm in!"

There was a flash of silver, auburn, and green and suddenly the Thief girl was in there with them. "Le's go, _mes amis_."

* * *

It took almost forty minutes for them to get down to the ground and get through the obstacle course of guards and guard towers and reach the tall barbed wire fence. Lucien – codenamed Backlash – was dangerously impatient and distracted.

He could not believe that he had let his younger sister fly away with that Assassin. Realistically he knew that Noelle was good – better than he was, to be honest, the best to come out of New Orleans since their father, better even – but she was still his baby sister. He had bandaged up her scrapes when she fell off swingsets and jungle gyms, he had chased off the dozen or so kids back home who tried to flirt with her. He was her _older brother_ for God's sake. What the hell had he been thinking?

"Easy Cajun," Wolverine's voice rumbled. "Mouse's one of the best we've got."

He knew that. He really did.

But he'd be glad as hell when all this was over.

"Give us some light, Matches!"

Blayze nodded and immediately every guard tower and spotlight they had just snuck past caught fire.

There was an immediate outburst of panic and men leapt up, guns blazing. The fun part was that they were all facing the forest – away from the fence and away from the intruders.

Without being asked, Backlash put a sound dead zone around them; they could set off a bomb and not a whisper would get past that barrier. "Y' silenced, Wolverine, Bijou."

The two nodded and began slicing through the fence, Bijou's solid diamond skin protecting her from the electricity pumped through the metal wire, and Wolverine's sheer pigheadedness allowing him to hold back the howls of agony that were surely fighting to be released.

In less than ninety seconds, they had an entrance into the compound. Like the well-trained X-Men they were, the group slipped through the hole and made their way to the garage. The entrance was unguarded except for a small guards' post. Wolverine took care of the three guards.

No one knew how.

No one wanted to know.

It was in the garage that everything went to hell.

Even Backlash's sound barrier around them didn't stop a strolling soldier from seeing Blayze as the Brit played with his lighter. Before anyone else knew what was happening, alarms were going off and herds of enemies were pouring towards them from everywhere.

"Rule number one o' search an' rescue," Backlash muttered.

Atlas – Alexei – heard him and finished the sentence. "You always get caught."

**OH NO!!! What could happen?**

**Review and find out!**

**_Comprends _- "I understand"**

**_Tu es prêt d'aller pour travailler, petit oiseau?_ - "You ready to go work, little bird?"**

**_Suis-je pas toujours_? - "Aren't I always?"**

**_Voila_ - "There it is"**

**_chat sauvage_ - "wild cat"**

**_Quoi_? - "What?"**

**_Ouais_ - "Yeah"**


	16. Chapter 16

**Okay... c'mon! Review please!**

**Read and enjoy!!**

**NOW I must write my Tolkien paper! Don't expect any new chapters for about a week or so - almost finals time!**

Chapter 15

Sniper didn't think he had ever been in such an enclosed space. Seriously, his shoulders ached from scrunching them together so he could fit, and his face was almost in the Thief girl's ass. That was completely the fault of Wildcat who kept hissing at him to hurry up. No way in hell would he have gotten this close to a target's backside – no matter how nice it was.

Kestrel stopped and he had to stop sharply. "What is it?"

The Thief said nothing, merely lay her head against the floor, obviously not caring about dust in her hair. "T'ink we above da cells."

"How can you tell?" Wildcat whispered.

"Dere's a lot o' despair an' anger rahght here." She tapped a finger against the space by her head. "We gon' need ta fahnd an exit."

They had to crawl a bit further before they found an air vent that was obviously carefully reinforced from the inside to keep anyone within from breaking out.

"Typical," the Thief muttered, sticking her hand into a small pouch on her thigh. "Dese people never t'ink about someone breakin' _inta_ dere prisions. _Imbéciles_."

She removed several very thin picks from the pouch and stuck them into the cracks around the vent and carefully began wiggling them around.

After a moment, she cursed quietly and took another pick from her pocket. To Sniper's shock, she placed it into his hand. "Take dis."

The Assassin stared at the tiny metal toothpick-like strip. "What do I do wit' dis?"

"Stick it inta da cracks lahke dis and jiggle it around gently."

So Vincent Boudreaux crouched in the air shaft of a secret base and helped a Thief ease off the metal layering of an air vent. Maman _jus' had da urge ta jump out da window_, he thought cynically as the two young Cajuns lifted the metal vent away.

It revealed what looked like pink insulation. Sniper snorted and reached out a hand to rip that aside and grunted in confusion when Kestrel grabbed his wrist.

"Don' be stupid," she warned softly.

He remembered the feral looks in her brother and Wolverine's eyes and stayed his hand.

The girl poked at the insulation with a metal pick and nodded grimly as a small electric shock touched the tiny stick. Another hand went into her pouch and she brought out what looked like ordinary plastic hand kitchen tongs and plucked out the pink material. Carefully setting it behind her, she kicked at it with her boot and the pink stuff slid away, looking grimy and harmless. "Damn electric foam."

After that, there was nothing left but to carefully lift away the last vent and drop into the room below.

He wasn't looking forward to that.

* * *

Sofya Rasputin looked like she should have died months ago. Her long black curls looked like an old Halloween fright wig. Eyes that had once been the exact blue-black of the night sky were now dull and sunken. Her skin was grey and stretched painfully over her bones and wasted muscles.

She should have died. The day she had been brought here.

The constant aches in her body and stomach were now too regular to give any real attention to and she no longer moved unnecessarily. These days she spent most of her time curled up on her cot, dreaming and waiting to die.

Dreaming was a bit more pleasant so she lay in a haze, remembering her family. Her papa at his construction company or drawing on their front porch. Her mama making bread in the kitchen or telling her stories of being a prima ballerina in the Russian Ballet. Her brothers working in the garage or teasing her.

The day three years ago when she had been hurrying home from school and had tripped on the curb. That stumble had put her right into the path of a truck. It had hit her at fifty plus miles an hour. She had been thrown down the street like a rag doll and hit the ground with a horrific crunch. She had staggered upright to find that the crunching had come from her body smashing a crater into the concrete, rather than the concrete pulverizing whatever was left of her mangled body. She had walked away without a scratch.

Then the day a year ago when she had been taking her early morning walk right before class at the convent when a dart had hit her out of nowhere. It had somehow managed to pierce her invulnerable skin and lay her out paralyzed on the concrete long enough for a white truck to come barreling down the street and the men inside it to throw her inside.

She winced and tried to block that out before those memories branched out to the memories of the experiments she had suffered through.

Thump

Thump

Painfully, Sofya sat up and stared at the air vent in her cell.

Rats?

There was soft whispering and then the lightest creak.

Was this a new torture _they_ had concocted?

There was a pop and a small stream of dust fell from the ceiling. The young woman stared at the new hole in her cell.

Something was coming out of it.

A leg.

Another leg.

A lean body.

The figure dropped to the ground, landing silently. As the stranger straightened up and turned, Sofya managed to lever herself to her feet.

It was a girl. One of the prettiest she had ever seen, but also one of the strangest. The young woman was almost as tall as herself, with long auburn hair that was tied into a messy bun with soft, feathery looking bangs hanging elegantly into her face as though each one had been strategically placed. Eyes somewhere between green and grey glittered from a tanned, lovely face, undimmed by the light covering of dust that was spread liberally over her person. She wore a uniform of black, green, and silver that clung elegantly to her graceful curves and was marked proudly with an X insignia.

That X… she knew that sign.

Sofya tried to take a step forward but her wasted limbs failed her and she crumpled to the ground.

"Whoa dere, mam'selle!" The girl now had a firm grip on her elbows, holding her up. "Y' sit dere an' wait jus' a second, _d'accord_?"

Allowing herself to be pushed back onto the cot that served her as a bed, Sofya watched in awe as the stranger looked up at the hole in the ceiling and motioned.

"C'mon, _petite_. We got work ta do."

Another young girl dropped from the ceiling. Whereas the first young woman was about sixteen or so, this girl could barely be thirteen. She was dressed all in black, with a dark red X on the sleeves of her slick top. Dark brown hair was drawn back into a severe bun and emerald green orbs glared out like cats' eyes from a dark, tanned face. She looked distinctly feline.

"Le's go, Sniper!" hissed the first girl. "We ain't here ta sniff da roses."

A third body fell down easily. It was a tall… and very handsome… young man. Dark blonde hair fell into handsome dark blue eyes and a most enticing face. But it was rather disturbing. No one should be that perfect. His uniform was the male version of the first girl's, full where hers was slick and emphasized his physique whereas hers showed off her grace. A green X was emblazoned on his shoulders.

"You…" she whispered, her voice hoarse. "You are X-Men, aren't you?"

The first young woman grinned at her. "We are indeed –"

A blast shook the room.

"An' we ain't got much tahme ta talk, _désolée_." Her strangely accented voice was suddenly tense. "Dis is Wildcat" – she gestured to the smaller girl – "Dis handsome devil's Sniper" – the young man – "An Ah'm Kestrel. Dat makes y' Sofya, right?"

They knew her name?

"Yes."

"Bon. Y' stay here. Sniper. Wildcat. Cover meh." Kestrel bent to the door and studied the edges.

"There is no way out," she tried to say.

"Not fo' y' maybe." The young woman drew a long strip of metal from some unseen pocket and slipped it through the crack between the door and the wall.

There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by another far off rumble – though it was not as far off as the last one had been.

Finally, there was a click and the door opened. Sofya stood and stared at the lovely rectangle of open space. Tears rolled down her face as they had done so many times in the past. But these were tears of… joy. Someone besides those awful soldiers had opened the door!

An X-Man had opened the door.

Not a soldier.

The soldiers.

The soldiers!!!

"Watch out!"

But Kestrel had already gone out of the sight, around her doorway and into the hallway. There was the sound of bullets and sounds of grunting and weird thumping. Wildcat shot out of the room but Sniper did not move.

Another explosion; no doubt about it now, they were getting closer.

Kestrel and Wildcat were back, dragging limp bodies of soldiers. Sofya drew away from them, feet unsteady beneath her.

"Y' shouldn' be standin', sugah," Kestrel said, her eyes gentle in direct contrast to what she had just done. "D'y' know how many prisoners are here?"

She nodded slowly and pointed to the walls on either side of her cell. "There are two in these cells. They are young… always crying in another language. Not English. And… I have seen others… a tall boy with dark skin… another boy… Indian, I think… and two little girls… down the hall to the left… That's all I know of."

Kestrel nodded sharply. "Here's how we do dis. Sofya, y' got any powers?"

"I am invulnerable. I cannot be harmed – they can only pain me, not hurt me."

The other girl nodded. "Got it. Wildcat, you stay here and guard the trash and Sofya here. Me an' Sniper'll get da rest o' da prisoners an' see if we c'n get out da way we came."

Another explosion. There was audible yelling now.

"'F not, we go out da front wit' da rest o' da team. Le's move."

* * *

Kestrel moved down the hall. This corridor didn't seem to be on a major walkway, thank God, or else they'd have seen a lot more soldiers. But, judging by the sound of the approaching explosions, there were probably going to be soldiers, guards, and scientists streaming through here looking to move their victims. And the young Thief had no intention of being around when that happened.

She expertly picked the lock to the cell on Sofya's right. It swung open with a clank, but she cared little for this – what mattered now was speed – and ducked inside.

Fury clouded her vision for a moment at the side of a skeleton in the guise of a young girl of around twelve years old. Clothes hung off her emaciated form and she huddled hopelessly in a corner. Her hair was lank and jet black – though it was hard to tell through the grime – and her eyes were black and full of despair.

Motherly instincts rushing to the forefront, she had to force herself to stand back and carefully feel this girl's emotions. Kestrel shuddered; this was a long term prisoner, alright. Her mind was dark and uncaring. Except for a bright, fanatical spot of worry. Tear your hair out kind of worry.

The X-Man stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the smell of urine, vomit, unwashed skin, and death. "_Bonjour_, _chérie_."

The girl leapt to her feet, hobbled, and flung a wasted body at her, snarling in what Kestrel was fairly sure to be Spanish.

Not bothering to try and fight back, the young Thief knelt, and, in one smooth move, took the girl up onto her shoulder. Instantly, the child was twisting and struggling, screaming, "_Perra! Dónde está mi hermana? Dónde está Azucena?!_"

Ignoring this, Kestrel left the cell and handed the girl over to Sniper. "Hold 'er fo' a momen', _s'il vous plait_."

He shot her a look, but she was in too much of a hurry to care. The next cell opened on a mirror image of the clawing, screeching hellion Sniper was restraining.

Twins.

The idiots had separated twins.

They were identical in every way except their coloring. Whereas twin number one had black eyes and hair, this one had white hair and clear silvery-white eyes. Twin number two didn't try to fight like her sister had. The poor thing looked broken.

Kestrel stepped inside, her empathy assuring her that this was indeed a prisoner. "_Bonjour, ma pauvre petite_."

The white little scarecrow offered no resistance as she scooped her up and carried her out. Kestrel felt like she was holding a porcelain doll.

Twin number one went utterly still in Sniper's grip when she came out with twin number two in her arms. The tiny child watched as the X-Man approached with her sister in hand.

Meeting Sniper's eye, she nodded to Sofya's cell. "We put 'em in dere 'til we ready ta go."

They put the girls into the room and laid them out on the bed next to Sofya. As soon as the Cajuns let the girls go, the children threw themselves at each other, hugging and whispering to one another in swift frantic Spanish.

It only got harder as they found the others.

The boy who looked to be from India could barely raise his head when they opened his cell. Sniper had to carry him out.

Another cell revealed what may have once been a young Inuit girl. They'd come too late for her. Kestrel gently laid her cold body on the bed and spread a blanket over her. "_Bon nuit, mon cœur. Dors bien._"

In the next cell was a young man with astonishing amounts of energy and speed, considering you could count his ribs and vertebrae from ten paces. He tried to charge them shouting something in an African dialect, but Sniper barely had to tap him in the chest before he crashed to the ground gasping. They both had to carry the kid out.

The final cell held a young girl with pale skin and a dark nest of hair. She sat in the corner with her knees pulled up to her chest, pressing her face into her thighs.

"Y' alraght in dere, _petite_?" Kestrel asked, stepping inside cautiously. An empathic scan revealed hopelessness and terrible fear and loneliness.

"Go away," came the whispered response. "Did you not laugh enough?"

"We come ta get y' out," Sniper said quietly. "We da X-Men, we da good guys."

"You do not want me. No one wants me…"

"We wan' y'," Kestrel assured her, crouching down besides her. "Now c'mon, we ain't got much time. Dey'll be here soon."

The girl sobbed something in what Noelle recognized as Italian and looked up at them, her eyes too big in her starved face.

Her eyes.

She heard Sniper curse in French and back away in horror. "_Bordel!_"

This explained why the girl hadn't looked up at them when they had entered. Kestrel remembered what her father had said about his eyes, how he'd been ashamed of them for so long and had hated them for making him so different.

This girl had cat eyes. Clear golden-green almond shaped eyes looked at her, the only other color being the oval pupil in the middle.

Kestrel reached out a hand and let the girl flinch away. Gently, she took the girl's bony chin in her hand and forced the child to look into her face.

"_Ce sont belles. Ce sont très, très belles_." She quickly switched over to English. "Dey're beautiful, sugah. Almost as nice as _mon père's_."

The girl stared at her as though she had never seen anything like Kestrel in her life. But at least she didn't struggle when the Thief went to pick her up and carry her from the room.

They had just set the cat-eyed Italian girl into Sofya's cell when an entire battalion of soldiers came swarming down the hall.

It took them less than a moment to realize that the cells were empty and another half a moment to notice the X-Men standing just down the hall. The three crouched just inside Sofya's cell.

"Great," Wildcat snarled. "Hope it's going better on Logan's end."

**What do you think? Don't worry everybody, your favorite Merc with the Mouth is coming next chapter!!!**

**Get ready!!**

**_Imbéciles _- "Idiots"**

**_désolée _- "sorry"**

**_Perra! Dónde está mi hermana? Dónde está Azucena?! - "_Bitch! Where is my sister? Where is Azucena?!"**

**_Bonjour, ma pauvre petite_ - "Hello, my poor little one"**

**_Bon nuit, mon cœur. Dors bien. _"Good night, my heart. Sleep well."**

**_Bordel! _- colloqualism, basically "Holy shit!"**

**_Ce sont belles. Ce sont très, très belles - "They are beautiful. They are very, very beautiful."_**


	17. Chapter 17

**I'm back! Thanks to you guys who have favorited me, now if you would kindly review!**

**Alright, now that I have shaken off the Turkey Day haze, here is your next chapter! **

**Complete with DEADPOOL appearance!**

Chapter 16

Wolverine was proud.

He had known his kids could handle anything, but it was still nice to see the fruits of his training. They had blasted their way through the garage, and into the hanger, where Blayze and Backlash had gotten to fully extend their powers. Atlas tossed around tanks like they were sand bags, terrifying the guards even more than the solid shining form of Bijou as she slammed her hard fists into stomachs or broke bullets on her skin.

They worked expertly as a team, rotating as they advanced. First came Blayze, his pyrokinetic abilities serving to keep the soldiers away and disoriented. Then Backlash, his sound manipulation rendering most of them immobile with powerful sound waves that wreaked havoc with their inner ears and equilibrium. For those who managed to make it through the sound and flames, there were Atlas, Bijou, and himself.

Mostly, the only ones who got through were mutants and he was too old and experienced to let amateurs like these take him down.

They reached solid steel doors set into a wall of sheer concrete. Wolverine scoffed and slammed his claws into the steel, the adamantium slicing neatly through the tough metal. "Cover me."

He opened the doors to find hundreds of guns and RPGs trained on them. "Backlash!"

The Cajun darted out and slammed his boot down on the ground. The dull thumping sound was amplified so brutally that a literal shockwave hit the first dozen rows of soldiers and ruined every other guard's aim. But the young Thief wasn't through yet. Setting his fingers into his mouth, he whistled high and sharp.

The pitch of the sound soared crazily and Wolverine felt grim satisfaction as every plane of bulletproof glass set into helmets, scopes, glasses, and car windows shattered. The X-Men charged forwards, another blast of sound leading the way, followed up immediately by a wall of fire.

They hacked their way through the battalions of soldiers and managed to make it into the next room.

Wolverine snarled. It was a lab.

Up on the second level was a gathering of scientists, surrounded by bodyguards and mutants – both unfamiliar faces and two horrifically familiar ones.

"Hiya, Logan!" Deadpool shouted. "Isn't this great? The author decided to bring me back! 'Course it took her more than fifteen chapters, but here I am!"

"Shut up, Wilson," growled the ever popular Sabretooth.

"Awww… c'mon kitty-cat! It's been years since the three of us have been together! It's just about the time when we put on our game faces and try to kill each other!"

"How many time I got ta tell y', Merc," snapped the huge feral mutant. "The runt's mine!"

"Now that's not fair!" wailed the lean assassin. "Why do you always get Wolvie? Didn't you go to kindergarden? They teach you to share! I loved going to kindergarden, but one of the squirts in my class didn't like my show and tell. Who doesn't like learning about C-4?"

"Shut up!"

Deadpool sighed deeply. "This is gonna be booooooring! Think I'll go find something else to do. Maybe find someone to kill. Yeah, that'll be fun."

Without further ado, and to the complete astonishment of everyone, the red clad man wandered off, whistling Yankee Doodle.

"What da hell jus' happened?" Backlash demanded.

"No clue," Blayze said.

"That guy is, like, totally missing some screws," Bijou declared.

"You have no idea," Wolverine growled.

* * *

The prisoner hallway was in chaos. Unconscious bodies of soldiers lay on the floor around Sofya's cell as Sniper, Wildcat, and Kestrel fought them off.

Sniper felt sick. He had known that people did terrible things to mutants but never had he ever imagined it could go as far as this. The six kids huddled in the cell behind them were beyond anything he had seen in the torture chambers back home.

It actually felt good to fight these men, to make them feel the slightest bit of the anguish he had seen. Normally, he wouldn't have cared so much but that little girl's body just kept drumming over and over in his head. _Once all dis is over_, he vowed to himself. _An' I'm Guildmaster, we gon' find da people who do dis crap. Gon' kill 'em all_.

He was also very glad to have backup, even if one of them was a Thief. They were good and watched his back.

Wildcat had grown bone claws when the fight started, three on each hand like Wolverine and one in each foot. They were about eight inches long and came in very useful as she slashed open faces and cut hamstrings. She backflipped over people's heads and punched and kicked like a mini-Bruce Lee.

The fighting skills he had seen the Thief girl use during the Danger Room sessions were kids' stuff compared to what she was doing now. A two foot long staff in each hand, she twirled each metal stick like a drum major's baton, cracking skulls, ribs and assorted other bones. Every time it looked like they were about to be overtaken, she would go absolutely still for a moment and every guard and soldier in a twenty foot radius around them would go into convulsions, and fall writhing to the floor.

Then there was him. Sniper lashed out with every scrap of his Assassin training, lashing out with fist, foot and blade. The razor disks were long gone, having been buried in strategic points on bodies, paralyzing them without killing them. And after lugging around those damn backpacks, shrugging off rifle blows was easy.

Bang

The door the soldiers had been pouring out of was blasted away and the three X-Men had to dive out of the way. By the time they staggered to their feet and turned to see who it was, the shining form of Bijou was just managing to heave a rock slab off of herself.

"Hold on dere, _mon ami_," the Thief girl ordered, scrambling up and helping her teammate. A deep slash had been carved into her bicep and blood dripped steadily down her arm, so she was easily able to lift the rock away.

"Umm… cavalry's here?"

"You by y' lonesome ain't exactly what I'd call da cavalry, _petite_," Sniper said, pulling an unsteady Wildcat to her feet.

"Good t'ing she ain't by her lonesome," the Thief boy panted, suddenly appearing from out of the dust. "Ain't it?"

Atlas came next, huffing and puffing, with Blayze right behind him.

"Where's Wolverine?"

Backlash gave his sister a look that only siblings can understand. "Sabretooth's here."

Kestrel closed her eyes. "Great.

"But we got bigger problems. We got da prisoners but none o' 'em're up ta getting' outta here da way we got in. We gon' have ta get 'em out t'rough da front door."

"My sister! Sofya!" Atlas interrupted. "Is she…"

"She here. C'mon Ah show y'."

Sniper followed as the Thief led the others to the cell where the prisoners were waiting. Atlas nearly ran Kestrel over when he saw the scarecrow-like young woman sitting weakly on the cot.

"Sofy! What have they done to you?"

"You came," the girl said softly as her huge brother wrapped her in a fierce hug. "You came for me."

"Of course…"

Kestrel put her hand gently on the Russian's shoulder. "_Désolée, mon ami_. We ain't got much time fo' reunions. Gotta get topside fo' dah ceiling comes down on us."

Instantly, Sniper looked up, and for the first time noticed the ceiling bending and groaning above their heads. How the fuck had he not noticed that?

Judging by the looks on everyone's faces, they were thinking the exact same thing.

"Here, Atlas, y'take dis big guy here," Kestrel was ordering, patting the shoulder of the tall African guy who had attacked them.

"My sister is too weak to walk-" Atlas tried to protest.

"Ah got 'er, _mon ami_," Backlash said, clapping him on the arm. "She be safe wit' me."

The two young men seemed to communicate through their eyes for a moment, blue on brown, before Atlas stood. "Very well. Sofya, this is my friend, Lucien. He will look after you."

"Sniper," the Thief girl distracted him from his observation. "Y'take de Indian, _d'accord_?"

He nodded, too eager to get out of here to argue.

"Bijou, y'take dis pretty _petit flocon de neige_," she said, pointing to the white haired Spanish girl.

"An' Blayze, y'take da _petite ombre_," pointed to the black haired Spanish girl.

"Y' be guardin' our backs, _d'accord_, Wildcat?"

"Ah take little cat's eyes, here. _Allons, mes amis._ I t'ink we may have worn out our welcome."

* * *

Sofya clutched the young man carrying her firmly as he ran out of the hallway that had been her prison for so long. It was both amazing and terrifying to think that this morning she had had no hope of ever leaving this terrible place alive and now here she was being rescued by her brother and several very good looking young men.

The group charged through the chaos of yelling, collapsing walls and occasional bullets. But no one seemed very concerned, though once in a while the X-Man holding her would dart away from the group and slam his boot on the ground, creating some sort of sonic blast that leveled everything it hit. Or the young man with the orange-blond hair would throw handfuls of flames at anything that challenged them.

They passed through the labs and solitary confinement chambers. Sofya closed her eyes, trying not to remember those, and buried her face into the young man's – Lucien, hadn't it been? – chest and tried to breath normally.

"Don' worry, _Belle Sophie_," he said kindly and not sounding the slightest bit out of breath. "We almost dere."

"Look out!" screeched the girl made entirely of diamond.

A redclad figure came leaping down from the crumbling rafters. "Howdy!"

No one seemed to know what to say to this.

"Ummm… _Bonjour, monsieur_," Kestrel said at last.

Instantly the weirdo was face to her. "Cool! You're a Cajun, aren't ya? Haven't seen one o' you since Gambit!"

"How… nice."

"Hey, hey, hey! You seen anybody I could fight?"

Sofya was still trying to get her jaw up off the floor.

"Don' appear so."

"What about you guys? I can fight and kill you, right?"

Kestrel smiled apologetically at him. "_Désolée_, but we on a search an' rescue mission." She nodded to the little girl with green cat eyes she was carrying.

The guy pouted – at least it looked like a pout, it was hard to tell through the mask – and sighed deeply. "That's not fair, I wanted some fun!"

"You could, like, fight Sabretooth," suggested the diamond girl.

"Why would I want to do that?" he asked, before immediately answering himself. "He wouldn't let me pet him! That sorry son of a bitch!"

He was just about to run off when the boy who threw fireball suddenly yelled after him, "Wait! Aren't you going to try and stop us?"

Every single person gave the loudmouth a murderous look.

"Why'd I wanna do that? You guys are busy, so I can't fight you. An' you guys have kids so I can't kill you… You wanna put the kids away so I can-"

"NO!"

"Alright, alright… hmph. Anyways, crazy scientist guy had Lackey 1# hire me. Lackey hired me to watch the base." The guy made a great show of staring at the cracking walls. "I'm watching it. Bye-bye!"

Turning to leave, he stopped and stared at the handsome young man, the one they called Sniper. "Do I know you?"

"Non…"

Tapping his chin thoughtfully, the guy leaned forward and examined the other's face. They were within an inch of each other's heights. "You sure? 'Cause I know I've screwed about a zillion blond girls. Okay, okay, only a million. You got a sister? Or a hot mom?"

"_Ouais_, too hot fo' y', _monsieur_. She'd have y' head if y' even suggested it. Now if y' don' mind too much, da Martians're pickin' us up in ten minutes an' we don' wan' miss our ride."

"Okay, bye! Tell Jar-Jar I hope his nuts are growing back!"

As soon as the guy was out of sight, Kestrel hissed. "Who da hell was dat?"

"You don' wanna know," Backlash muttered. "_C'est barge_."

_**Désolée**_** – "Sorry"**

_**petit flocon de neige**_** – "little snowflake"**

_**petite ombre**_** – "little shadow"**

_**Allons, mes amis **_**– ****"Let's go, my friends"**

**Alright, now what do you think?**

**REVIEW!!**


	18. Chapter 18

**So many reviews and favoriting!!!**

**Yay!**

**Well, wish me luck this week - final exams... Someone shoot me please...**

**Anyway... enjoy!**

Chapter 17

Sniper raced forwards with the half-conscious Indian boy in his arms. _Jus' a li'l' bit further! Jus' a li'l' bit!_

They came to what had once been a hanger before a huge hole had been blasted through a wall. Sticking out of the side of the wall, near the high ceiling was a pipe with a diameter of about thirty feet.

"We almost at da exit," Backlash panted. "Jus' a li'l' further."

"I'll, like, call Cicero!" Bijou gasped from behind them.

There was the sound of the Chicago-bred girl managing to give the word that they were almost out and would need a lift out of here, but Sniper was too focused on getting out of this hellhole to listen too closely.

They had reached the metal ladder that Atlas said would take them to the garage and then the exit when there was loud crash that was quickly identified as a flying Wolverine came smashing from the opposite wall and hit the pipe. His body tore a clean hole in the concrete and in a moment tons and tons of water came roaring out and hitting the floor as loudly as firework explosions.

There was an immediate scramble. The Thief girl didn't bother with the ladder, choosing to fly straight up and set her charge on the higher level. Taking a moment to check that the area was clear, she set about yelling at them to hurry before flying down and beginning to carry the newly freed prisoners to the top. It took her longer to take Sofya and the African boy up because they were bigger and slightly heavier than the children. As she took the children away from them, the X-Men climbed as quickly as they could up the ladder, trying to ignore the fact the water was rising terribly quickly.

Wildcat was climbing…now Atlas… then Bijou… then Blayze… then Backlash…

She had just taken the Indian boy from him and left him to climb the ladder – and get away from the water that was already at chest height – when there was an explosion not four feet away from the ladder. Sniper stumbled and bruised his shoulders on the sturdy metal steps.

It was the Wolverine. And he looked like shit.

Kestrel tossed the Indian boy to Atlas and dove down. Grabbing Wolverine's flailing hand, she dragged him from the water. They had almost reached the top when the weirdo in red appeared on another side of the room. "My orders've changed, everybody! I get to kill you all now!"

"Get the kids outta here!" Logan howled.

Immediately, the X-Men disappeared with their charges into the other room, though not without some unhappy backward looks and few sound blasts to knock away any bullets coming at their backs.

Out of sheer instinct, Sniper grabbed his knife. The familiar molecules came alive in his hand as he carefully readied himself to throw.

Bang

Bang

Two somethings hit his chest like battering rams, but he was in Assassin mode and not in a state to recognize bullet wounds nor the agony they brought, and he let his knife fly, focusing on the molecules of that… thing's heart.

Then the pain hit and he lost his grip on the ladder. Two more bangs, barely audible over the roar of the water and the sudden rushing in his ears.

He hit the water and started to sink.

He tried to think.

He tried to swim.

But… nothing seemed to be working…

Dat _bâtard_ shot me in da heart…

He was dying…

Bleeding…

Drowning…

It hurt like hell…

Darkness…

* * *

Kestrel felt something punch her hard in the chest. Instantly, she tunnel visioned.

Thief and X-Men training kicked in and she rocketed straight into the air. He had bruised her – thank God for _Monsieur_ Stark's excellent Kevlar reinforced uniform – she could feel her body's adrenaline singing in her veins, her skin hardening, her muscles tightening and getting stronger. The whole idea of a bruise was that you were bleeding under your skin and bleeding was where she got her power.

She half threw her friend and leader into the doorway, planted her feet against the wall, and kicked off. Her legs removed the need for any swift acceleration.

The guy fired at her again even as he leapt forward to directly confront her. She grabbed him, the reflexes that put everyone in the Institute and everyone at home – even her parents – to shame helping her to just beat out the assassin and grab his skull.

This _bâtard_ had shot her teammate through the heart. And then, on a lesser note, had tried to shoot her as well. He was going to pay.

She crumpled his gun like an aluminum can and took a powerful red-clad shoulder in either hand.

Crunch

She crushed his shoulders into powder and gave him her hardest kick in the pelvis… well, almost hardest – her hardest would rip him in half. As it was, she pulverized his hipbones and threw him through the wall.

He wouldn't die, but he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

"Vincent!" Shit! How could she have forgotten?!

* * *

There was darkness…

Not so much pain…

Just… heaviness…

Pressure…

Something warm and soft touching him…

On his lips…

What…?

Whatever it was, it was forcing him to breathe…

In…

Out…

In…

Out…

He lost count as the presence on his lips disappeared and there was sharp, rhythmic pumping on his chest.

He couldn't keep count.

It continued for a few seconds… or maybe minutes… or days… or years…

He didn't know…

Somewhere between seven seconds and seven millennia, something deep within his body jumped and he gasped and choked, trying to breathe on his own.

His eyes opened…

An angel…

Beautiful…

An angel had saved him…

Wait.

No.

It was _her_.

The Thief girl had her arms around him, helping him sit up and rubbing comforting circles on his back as he choked and spit up water.

He jerked away from her sharply and nearly fell off the bench he had been lying on, gasping in sharp agony.

It was only in hunching over did he notice the bloody bandage wrapped over his chest, the red centered directly over his heart.

They were in the Blackbird with Cicero and Wolverine at the controls. The other X-Men were gathered around him, while the prisoners they had rescued curled up in chairs, as Madonna knelt before them running her golden, glowing hands over sores and bruises.

"Are you alright, mate?" Blayze asked, eyes huge.

"Yeah… I be okay."

Madonna looked over at him; he could see the dark shadows under her eyes and the strain evident on her face. "I'm sorry Vincent, but all I could do was heal your heart. The bullets shredded it all to pieces… I don't know how you were still alive but when Kestrel brought you, it seemed your biggest problem was that you weren't breathing… You were resistant to my powers… we bandaged you up as best as we could but…"

Her great blue eyes reminded him of a child begging for understanding and forgiveness.

"I's alright, _belle_," he grunted. "I'm alive, ain' I?

Bijou smiled at him in exhaustion. "You're just lucky that Kestrel got you out so fast and knows CPR so well."

Wait.

What?

He gaped at the Thief girl. "Y' saved me?"

"_Oui_," she answered simply, sitting on the edge of his bench.

"So… ummm…" Bijou said. "Usually missions aren't like this. It's just that search and rescue missions… well, we-"

"Always get caught," was the immediate response.

They spent a few minutes telling him about getting onto the Blackbird, how Kestrel had come shooting into the hold with him slung over her shoulders and ordered Madonna to heal his heart so she could begin CPR. Vincent just listened and absently ran his hand over the rough bandages over his chest.

His mind was bouncing around, trying to wrap his mind around the incredible concept that the Thief girl had saved him. She had _saved_ him. Doubly. She had pulled him out of the water in the first place and gotten him to the jet. Then she had performed CPR to get him breathing again.

He stared at the girl still sitting on the edge of the bench he was lying on, as Bijou finished her debriefing, patted him on the shoulder and went to sit down in one of the actual passenger seats. His unlikely rescuer looked bone tired and was covered with a jacket that Vincent recognized as her brother's in an attempt to ward off the cold she was attracting with her wet clothes and hair.

Vincent belatedly realized that he was as wet as she was.

"_Pourquoi_?"

She looked at him calmly as she wrung out her sopping wet hair. "'Cause y're mah teammate."

Her voice lowered. "An' now y' owe meh. Won' dat make y' _mère_ happy?"

She gave him that annoying smile and ruffled his wet hair.

Life had just gotten a lot more complicated. God, how he hated complications!

**Uh-oh! What could happen now?**

**Review and find out!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Hallelujah! Finals Week is almost over! One more exam and I can go home and see my baby! YEA!!!**

**Okay, here's the newest chapter!**

Chapter 18

By the time they got back to the Institute, got the prisoners out and into the med bay, got a full medical check by Beast, and staggered to bed, it was past midnight.

Vincent could barely see straight as he, James, Charles, and the Thief boy dragged their asses up to bed. To be perfectly honest, he felt like shit. His chest still hurt from where Deadpool – that's what Wolverine had said his name was, right? – had shot him. Beast had given him a nice shot of painkiller along with fresh bandages with the proclamation that he didn't see what the panic had been about – his heart seemed perfectly sound and the muscle was healing already.

Even through the haze of confusion, exhaustion, painkillers, and stubborn residual pain, his mind was racing like crazy at the thought that he now owed his life to… to a Thief. But…yawn… he could think about all that in the morning.

Or… at least when the sun was up.

Peeling his uniform off – forget about a shower – he threw himself into the embrace of his nice white sheets.

MMMMMmmm…

_He gasped and choked even as he turned to see his rescuer. _

_It was a girl, even younger and smaller than himself, with a reddish-brown ponytail and wide clear eyes. A green tank top covered her skinny chest and she wore shorts that looked ridiculously huge. Around her neck was a simple golden crucifix. _

"_Are y'okay?" her voice was delicate, high and colored with an unmistakable New Orleans Cajun accent._

"_Don' feel so good."_

_She got to her feet and pulled him to his own. "_Venez, _I'll take t'mah house. Mama an' _Tante_'ll know what ta do."_

_He allowed himself to be lead away but soon fell to the ground, gasping in pain…_

OUCH!

He sat up to see bright sunlight streaming through the window and Saya and Fatima hopping up and down on his legs.

"What're y' doin'?"

"Dr. Hank says it's time to get up and so he can check your injuries," Saya said cheerfully. "C'mon, Vinny-kun! Get up!"

Swallowing a mouthful of curses, the young Assassin took a deep breath to ready himself for the coming stiffness and pain. He sat up slowly and blinked. He felt fine.

Completely confused, he climbed out of bed, towering over the two girls, and stretched. His body felt nice and ready for anything – not at all like a body that had been forced to endure tight spaces, been thrown around in explosions, been hit up and down with rifle butts, and then shot and nearly drowned. A little stiff maybe… but nothing more than normal, early morning stiffness.

His gunshot wound – which had been slightly sore even as he fell asleep – might as well have never happened; he couldn't feel it at all. His bandage felt hard and uncomfortable.

_Très bizarre._

It didn't take very long for him to pull on a pair of wrinkled jeans and an old Saints jersey and trudge down to the elevator that would take him to the med bay.

He entered the cold room to find the good doctor taking the pulse of the girl with cats' eyes.

"Ah, Vincent!" the great blue X-Man said, not turning around. "If you would just take a seat I will be with you as soon as I'm done with Graziella here."

Vincent sat on a stool and looked out over the beds that now held the bone thin mutants they had rescued last night. Several of them were hooked up to respirators and heart monitors and all of them had IVs neatly inserted into their arms. The black and white twins were sleeping in the same bed and Alexei and Vassily's sister Sofya was awake and slowly eating a bowl of watery soup.

All in all, it was pretty depressing.

It suddenly occurred to him that there were more occupied bodies than there should have been. They had rescued six people. But there were seven occupied beds, counting cat-eyed Graziella.

"Sorry for the wait," Dr. McCoy said, coming over with his stethoscope.

"Don' worry 'bout it." Privately, he thought about the extra moments of sleep he could have had.

"Well. Let's start with that nasty wound. I really should have checked it more thoroughly last night, but you seemed more in need of a good night's rest than anything."

"I was."

Beast chuckled as he cut away the bandage. His soft laugher died away.

"Great Caesar's ghost!"

"_Quoi_?" Vincent looked down at his chest, expecting to see something horrifying. All he saw was clean, unbroken, unbruised skin.

There was no bullet hole.

Beast carefully pressed at where the wound had been. "Does that hurt?"

"_Non_."

"And that?"

"Nope."

The doctor had him turn around so he could examine his back, which turned out to be as unharmed as the rest of him.

"Remarkable! Absolutely remarkable!"

This was not remarkable. This was crazy – convenient, but crazy – small cuts healing up beneath his very fingers was alright, and broken bones healing in a week were just fine… but… he'd been shot in the heart. He knew it – he'd seen his cousins shoot hundreds of people – but last night Monica had said that his heart had been in pieces. Now it was like he had never been shot at all.

"Who's panickin'?" came a slurred, sleepy voice.

It turned out that one of the unidentifiable forms in the beds was the Thief girl. His stomach clenched. He really and dearly did not want to see her.

She looked strange with her sleep-tousled hair and her dreamy, half opened grey-green eyes. A soft questioning look was on her face.

"Noelle, you should be asleep!" Dr. McCoy scolded. "Everything's under control."

The Thief rubbed her eyes like a little kid and then shook her head so hard that her hair flew. Then she focused her suddenly clear eyes on the two of them. "Cain't, Ah'm awake now."

She swung herself out of the hospital bed and started towards them. Her uniform was gone now, replaced with light workout pants just barely hanging on by her hips bones, the draw strings dangling unused, and a spaghetti strap tank top that would have been completely indecent if not for the sports bra she was wearing beneath it.

If she hadn't been a target, he would have been all over her. As it was, he eyed her for a moment appreciatively.

"Lahke whatcha see?" she asked lightly sitting down on a bed right behind Dr. McCoy.

"Noelle…" the doctor said wearily.

"I be quiet now, Hank, _je te promise_," she said, by all appearances, chastened.

Vincent scowled at her. "What're y' doin' here?"

She smiled and swung her legs. "Was helpin' wit' da little ones. Den da Doctor t'inks Ah need a nap… so hea Ah am."

"It took two sedatives to put you out," grumbled the blue doctor. "And still you only sleep for three hours!"

"Who've y' got here?" Vincent asked, looking out over the bodies.

"Well…" the Thief girl turned and pointed to Alexei and Vassily's sister, "Dat's Sofya." She pointed to the ying-yang twins, "Dey're Estrella an' Azucena Fuentes. Esti's da black one an' Azi's da white one." Then to the Indian boy, "Ah t'ink it's Rajnish. Dat's what it sounded lahke, but he wasn't all dat coherent." Then the little Italian cat-eyed girl watching them from her bed, "Dat's Graziella." Finally the sleeping black kid who had tried to rush them, "An' he's Meles."

"How long're dey stayin' here?"

Beast answered that, "For the foreseeable future."

He smirked at that. "More work fo' y', Mam'selle Noelle?"

Her smile only widened. "How y' feelin' Vincent?"

"Okay," he answered cautiously.

"Dat's good. Y' heal as good as Wolverine. Fo' a second Ah t'ought we was gon' have ta call y' mama an' tell her y' died." She cocked her head playfully and something golden glinted around her neck. "Knowin' her –"

There was a sudden outburst of loud gagging. The Indian boy had awoken to find a tube stuffed down his throat and was panicking.

Immediately, the girl left the bed behind as she flew to the kid's side. As she went, her insufficient shirt flared up and Vincent got a very clear view of a tattoo stretching across her lower back.

His heart did a horrified stutter.

A Master's Mark.

A Master Thief's Mark!

Oh. Shit!

He needed to call his mother.

* * *

"Hey. _Petite crécerelle_, wake up."

Noelle draped an arm over her face. "Ah'm sleepin'."

"No, y're sleep-talkin'. Get up, i's almost time for dinner."

"Ah ain't hungry. Run along."

Someone started to shake her shoulder. Her instincts came awake in a moment and she lashed out expertly with a kick hard enough to break a man's – though not Logan's – leg. They deserved it – she had been trying to make up her sleep for the last week after the rescue mission.

"_Merde_! Damn it…"

Well, it didn't look like this guy was going to give her a chance to get back to sleep. Sigh. She opened her eyes and sat up, watching in amusement as her brother rubbed his leg sourly. "Did Ah hurt y'?"

He scowled darkly at her. "_Non_."

She laughed and stood up. "You a bad liar. Lemme see."

"Jus' a bruise. Dammit, Noelle, ain't y' got nothin' better ta do den kick meh?"

She brushed past him, tossing a careless smile over her shoulder. "_Mon grand frère_, y' know better'n ta try ta shake meh awake."

Lucien glared at her. "_Môme_. Mama shoulda t'rown y' in da bayou lahke Ah suggested."

"Ah… Luke, y' know y' love meh."

"_Dieu sait pourquoi_."

She threw her head back and laughed happily. Throwing an arm around his strong shoulders, Noelle kissed her brother's cheek. "'Cause Ah'm y' _petite sœur précieuse_."

He chuckled and tugged at her bangs. "Don' forget arrogant."

* * *

Vincent didn't understand her. She had saved him.

The worst part?

By ancient Guild tradition, he was now bound to her until he paid his debt. He had to save her life.

The problem?

She never _needed_ saving! In the Danger Room she always landed on her feet, she always managed to watch the others' – including his – back while never seeming to need it herself. She was ridiculously graceful and skilled. Of course she was! She was a Master Thief! You didn't get to be a Master Thief without being the best. She was better than anything his mother had ever told him about. Belladonna had only told him that the girl was a Thief – Master Thieves were monsters, the stories about them had given him nightmares when he was a little kid! And now he owed his life to one?

He couldn't tell his mother, either. God no, she'd kill him herself.

For the first time in his life, he lied to his mother, passing off his inability to kill them as a ploy to win their trust long enough to kill them.

Damn it! He had been at the Xavier Institute a whole month. He knew how to run the Danger Room, was learning to fly the Blackbird, and could write out chemical equations. He hadn't killed anyone for a job in over a month! Hadn't killed anyone since that Deadpool guy, but that had been self-defense so it didn't count.

If he was honest with himself, something he had to be careful about lately, Vincent would have to admit that he liked it here. There was no angry mother looking over his shoulder, demanding that he do better, run faster, fighter harder… be greater than he was. He was slightly more confined than he would have liked to be, but then again he could do just about anything legal that he wanted.

Often, he would find himself wishing that he wasn't here for a job. That he could forget about his mission and just be a normal –

WHOA!!!! See there?

That was exactly why he couldn't be honest with himself! Those Thieves – their father had killed his uncle – had killed his _father_. The Assassins needed revenge!

Vincent gritted his teeth.

He was here for a job.

That job couldn't be finished until he had paid back the Thief girl back a life.

He would watch her back until he repaid his debt. With any luck she would trust him by then… with a lot of luck, her brother would be less aggressive towards him and he could finish his mission and go back home.

But home didn't look so appealing now.

He would be sorry to leave the Institute – but Assassins weren't usually welcomed in schools, were they?

* * *

"Hm."

"What's 'hm'?"

"I am thinking, Mr. Wilson."

"Why do you think so quietly? How do you do that? How? How? How? How?"

A trace of irritation. "Thinking is usually a quiet activity."

"Really? I've never noticed that. I never think to myself. Ever. Well, there was that one time in Mexico…"

"Mr. Wilson, I am afraid I am not paying you to talk."

"Nah, I just like to throw that in for free. It's a great deal… but nobody ever seems to appreciate it. Huh. Wonder why. I personally think my voice is very soothing. Ryan Reynolds meets Scott Adkins."

"Mr. Wilson, if you are finished with your inane conversation, I have a job for you."

"OOOOOOOOOOOOO! What is it?"

"There is someone I'd like you to retrieve for me. A daughter of an old friend."

"Cool! A reunion! Who do you want? Tom Cruise's kid? One of Brad and Angie's kids? Nah. Too weird looking."

"I want a young lady by the name of Claire Adelaide LeBeau, the daughter of one Remy LeBeau, also known as Gambit, and Anna-Marie Darkholme, also known as Rogue."

"Oh wow! Gambit?! I haven't seen him since that brief passing glimpse in that last movie where they sewed _my goddamn mouth shut_! They shut my mouth! Can you imagine anything more horrifying?! Me not being able to speak! It goes against the very fabric of life! Of existence! But they gave me laser eyes and pull out swords – that was pretty cool…"

"Mr. Wilson. Please. Go now."

"Sure, sure. Hey, hey, Sinister? Could you give _me_ laser eyes?"

"We'll see."

"Awesome!"

**Another Deadpool appearance - he really gets around doesn't he? And what could happen with Claire? What will Vincent do? **

**Review to find out!**

**_Venez _- "Come on"**

**_Très bizarre -_"Very strange"**

**_Quoi -_ "What"**

**_Je te promise - _"I promise you"**

**_Petite crécerelle_ - "Little falcon"**

**_Merde - "_Shit"**

**_Mon grand frère _- "My big brother"**

**_Môme_ - "Brat"**

**_Dieu sait pourquoi_ - "God knows why"**

**_petite sœur précieuse _- "precious little sister"**


	20. Chapter 20

**And voila! Another chapter out and ready to go! In which skills passed down from father to children are revealed!**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 19

Vincent darted to the side, avoiding what could only be described as spinning, spiked, cannonballs of death. Behind him, he heard the crack of something hitting and breaking against Bijou's diamond body. Ahead of him was Kestrel, dodging and leaping away from a whirring saw. Her staff flashed out and the round saw fell to the ground with a formidable clang.

Damn it.

Cicero was jumping around in front of them all, yelling at them to hurry up. "What's wrong with you guys?! You're five minutes slower than yesterday!"

"_Ferme-la_!" snapped the Thief girl, showing some temper. "If y' ain' here helpin, Golden Boy, den shut up!"

The guy scowled darkly, but stopped with the yelling. Thank God, now he could actually concentrate.

They finally managed to get through the obstacle course, only to be dumped into separate rooms where they would face off against their instructors at random.

Sniper fell into a dark room that looked suspiciously like the inside of a bar.

He had barely had time to look around when a roar split the air and Wolverine came hurtling out of nowhere. Sniper felt a grin tug at his mouth as he dodged away from the claws – this was what he truly loved, for all his training at nailing people from miles away, hand to hand combat was his specialty.

"_Bonjour_, Wolverine. Y're lookin' snazzy t'day. Mus' be dat stupid yellow spandex."

His mother had given up scolding him for talking and taunting his opponents during fights. "_Garçon_, y' hopeless! One second, y' silent an' deadly as an Assassin an' da next y' won' shut up!"

"We're fightin' here, Knife-boy," the older man growled. "Not havin' a fashion show."

"What? Y' don' have da breath fo' bot'?" _Keep y'r eyes open, Boudreaux_, he reminded himself, _if y' keep pushin', he's bound ta make a mistake. _

The Wolverine threw lightening fast punches and Sniper found himself missing his uncle's knife. He had lost it more than two months ago when he had taken out that freak Deadpool. His mother was going to kill him.

Let's see…

Dodge. Dodge. Duck. There!

He tilted his head hard to one side and felt the brush of whooshing air as a punch went past his ear. Grabbing the arm with his finely honed reflexes humming, he spun on his heel and heaved over his shoulder. The man was heavy as hell but he still went flying nicely across the room to crash into the bar counter, taking several of the stools with him. Wood and glass flew everywhere and it took not a little skill to snatch one of the legs of the stool from the air and turn it a few times in his hand like a sword.

Had to do this quick before the Wolverine –

Did that.

The instructor had hauled himself to his feet, eyes wild, and popped his claws.

_Merde._

"_Désole, mon ami_, did I make y' break a nail? _Ma mère_ could give y' tips t' keep y' nails nice an' strong."

The man charged. His claws came down in a shining blur, but Sniper lunged forward, sliding forwards on one leg and managed to get inside his opponent's guard. With all the fencing experience he had been given – and it had been a hell of a lot – he parried the gleaming claws and managed to heave them off. Then, hoping his shoulder wouldn't completely snap off like a cheap action figure's arm, he slammed his shoulder into the older man's stomach.

Immediately, he knew it had been a mistake as Wolverine stood his ground, only sliding back a foot or so, grabbing him around the torso – though thankfully not using his claws – and mercilessly squeezing.

"Didn' know y'liked me so much, _mon ami_," he gasped out, even as he maneuvered his jagged end of his stick into the man's stomach and stabbed. "'Fraid I don' swing dat way, t'ough."

Wolverine roared in pain and threw him away, slashing at his neck. "Shut up, kid."

Sniper twisted out of the way and treated his opponent to a nasty slash across the chest. But the stab wound in the man's stomach had already started to stop bleeding –

Snikt

Damn it! The bastard had sliced straight through the make-shift staff. And oh shit he was…

Wham

It took a moment to explain the feeling of his head being split in two and why he was lying flat on the ground in the Danger Room.

There were people gathered around him – he recognized Cicero, Talon, Atlas, Iceman, Bijou, Cyclops, Storm, Kestrel, and Wolverine.

"Wha' happened?" his voice was so heavily slurred he could barely recognize it.

"Logan gave you a nasty hit to the skull," Cyclops said bluntly.

"Don' look so good, _mon ami_," Kestrel was saying grimly. "I go an' get Monica o' _Docteur McCoy_ –"

"There is no need for that, Noelle LeBeau," said the cool, crisp voice of Bridget Defour. "I have brought Monica Worthington. She will stop the internal bleeding, though she will be unable to do anything else."

Immediately Monica Worthington knelt before him and took his head in her glowing, golden hands. "Try and relax."

"How can I with such a _belle femme_ in fron' o' me?"

Bridget's voice sounded, calm and matter-of-fact as always. "Monica Worthington is not yours, Vincent Boudreaux. She is here merely because I told her that someone needed her help."

"Y' cared enough t' come help me?" he teased as the headache eased slightly.

Not the slightest bit of amusement or irritation colored her words. "You do not seem to understand my powers, Vincent Boudreaux. I see everything. I know everything. I saw you injured in the Danger Room today at exactly 4:27PM and I saw that I was to bring Monica Worthington to make sure that you did not die. This does not mean I believe you in any way attractive. It is not your time to die."

"Alright, alright!" Wolverine barked, his uniform ripped, but the skin beneath it completely unbroken. "Session's over! Good work all o' ya. Knife! Mouse! I want you both to stay behind!"

Vincent swallowed a groan; that couldn't mean anything good.

As soon as the last of the students and instructors had left, the Wolverine beckoned them into another room, this one with mirrored walls and a slightly springy floor.

As usual, the instructor wasted no time in turning around and facing the two young Cajuns.

"You know how ta fence, Knife?"

"_Ouais_…"

"So that's what ya call it. Well your fencing sucks. From now on, Mouse and I will be teaching you the real way you sword fight – not that Mouse knows what she's doin' either-"

"Ah fence, Logan," said the Thief girl in annoyance. "Ah'm da best in N'Awlins. Y' jus' don' know da difference 'tween y'bushido an' mah fencin'."

"Y' da best in N'Awlins," Vincent repeated with flat coldness.

"Beat y' family's weapons' master las' year."

His stomach clenched in fury. Monsieur Armel, his third cousin once removed, had been the best fencer anyone in New Orleans had ever seen until he had gone into Thieves' territory and never returned. He could just imagine the elderly master hobbled and weighed down while this spoiled little princess humiliated him.

"So you da ones who killed 'im."

She blinked at him. "_Quoi_?"

"Shut up, the both of ya!" barked Wolverine. "Go get changed into something lighter. We start in five."

He changed into a loose T-shirt bearing his family crest and mesh shorts – no need to get fancy.

When he returned, his training partner – if you could call her that – was dressed in a tight green halter top that left part of her midriff bare and black dancer capris. She was also barefooted and held a training foil in one hand.

Wolverine stood in what looked like something Jet Li wore in his movies – only looser and more comfortable looking – and held two swords in his hand, one a foil and the other a weird looking wooden sword thing.

"Let's see what you've got, Knife." He tossed the sword to Vincent before turning to the girl. "Try not to cut him to ribbons, Mouse."

She grinned easily. Vincent scoffed.

"_En garde_."

They took their stances.

"Begin."

They began and Vincent immediately found himself driven back on his heels as her sword whipped and sung through the air like an angry hornet.

"_Un_!" A sting on his arm.

"_Deux_!" On his chest.

"_Trois! Quatre_!" On either side of his neck.

"_Cinq! Six!_" On either leg.

For a brief moment he lost sight of her. Circling wildly, he only saw Wolverine laughing… and himself in the mirror with the Thief keeping close to his back.

"_Sept!_" right between his shoulder blades.

"_Huit!_" The dull blade hit his knuckles.

"_Neuf!_" A light sting on his forehead.

She instantly drew back, eyes green and glittering like living emeralds and smile wild.

He took advantage of this and tried to push her forward, but she kept parrying, her light foil slicing through the air lazily.

Whoosh

Where were his legs?

Whump

On the ground with the rest of him.

A bare foot was on his chest and a blade tickled the underside of his chest. The Thief girl stood over him triumphantly, light shining around her like some sort of angel.

_Une de l'enfer_, he thought sourly to himself.

"_Dix et touché._" Were her only words.

* * *

Noelle leaned back on a sofa in the living room reading her psychology textbook as her kids happily played with dolls, blocks, and action figures. Her arms ached slightly from her fencing lesson with Vincent – he was getting better – as she held up the heavy book.

Logan had been training the Assassin hard in the basics – he had needed it. She had seen the kind technique he had used at his first lesson when her father had taught her brother to fence – Lucien had the quickness and dexterity, but he had a nasty habit of treating the light foil like a short staff. Vincent had hacked from the shoulder like a lumberjack. Good for outmuscling but very bad for trying to outmaneuver. She wondered how Belladonna had ever allowed her son out of the house without teaching how to fence and duel properly – Logan had recently begun training him to use those wooden swords that he was often see using in the Japanese kendo style, iaido wasn't it? No that wasn't it… ah, what the hell?

Three weeks later and he was starting to show some real progress – boy was a natural with the proper training.

"Miss Noelle?"

She looked up and grinned.

Sofya Rasputin, one of their newest students was standing before her, twisting her long, graceful hands nervously.

"_Bonjour_, Sofy."

The lovely Russian girl had filled out nicely since she had been rescued, her long hair a mass of thick blue-black glossy curls, her eyes a dark velvety blue and her skin smooth and fair. Right now however, she looked as anxious and frightened as the day they had brought her in.

"Somet'in' wrong, _mon amie_?" A pause. "Y' c'n sit down, sugah."

The two sat in silence for a long moment, the children around them giggling and talking as though nothing was wrong.

"Your brother has asked me out," the distressed girl blurted out all at once.

"Lucien?"

"Yes."

Eyebrows rising, Noelle had to fight the smirk struggling to spread across her face – _about freakin' time – she been here almost a whole damn month!_ "What'd y' tell him?"

"I told him that I would think about it."

"So? T'ink about it. What're y' comin' ta me fo'?"

"I do not know what to do," she moaned, burying her head in her hands.

Noelle turned on the sofa to face her friend. "Do y' lahke _mon frère_?"

A fierce blush spread across Sofya's high cheekbones as she ducked her head shyly. And nodded.

"Den say yes. Ain' dat hard, sugah."

"Will…" Sofya started plucking at her jeans. "Will he… be nice? Be a gentleman?"

For a moment, Noelle was angry – did this girl honestly think her brother was a…

"I have never been on a date before," Sofya went on. "And I do not know what you do. I have seen things on television, of course, here in America the boy and his date usually seem to retreat to the bedroom… or some other secluded area and…"

Never had Noelle ever seen a redder face on anyone – not even when Julia had to sit through the Sex Ed video in gym – and she just could not help but burst out into laughter.

"Sugah!" she finally managed to gasp out. "Ah c'n assure y' dat _mon frère_ won' do anythin' bigger dan a first kiss on da first date. An' if he's anyt'in _but_ a perfect gentleman, tell meh. I fix him real quick."

"You will fix him?"

"'Less it's somethin' really bad, den Ah may hafta call Mama. She kick his sorry ass all da way back ta N'Awlins."

"Really?"

"_Mais oui_, Lucien was raised to be a gentleman, not a pervert. He knows better dan ta pressure a girl."

"Will he really want a kiss?"

"Prob'ly, but if y' say 'no', he won' make y'. If he does, tell meh, I fix him."

"What if I've never kissed before?"

"Are you guys talking about kissing?" demanded a disgusted looking Jake Alvers.

"Kissing?!" shrieked several excited young girls. "Who's kissing?"

And immediately there was an uproar of excited whispers and questions and Noelle was quickly distracted from the conversation as she stopped an overexcited Lisa from planting a wet one on a horrified Jeffrey. Pausing in the middle of this, she looked back at Sofya, who seemed completely taken aback by this explosion of activity.

"_Mon amie_, if y' lahke him, say yes an' see what happens. Y' neveh know if y' don' try.

"Now come here an' help me! Dey bein' holy terrors, today."

* * *

Vincent was taken aback by something strange at dinner, even as he avoided the breaded chicken the Thief boy had made in favor of the non-Thief herb potatoes and seasoned broccoli. His arms didn't ache. At all.

They had ached and throbbed right after the lesson after Wolverine and Kestrel had given him about fencing, but now… it was like nothing had ever happened. Weird.

Really. Really. Weird.

"What's wrong with y'arm, mate?" James finally asked them as they started clearing the table after the meal. "You keep messin' with it."

"Nothin'. Dat's da problem."

"What d'ya mean?"

"I spent two hours more den usual wit' Logan an' da T'ief girl, havin' dem hit me wit' sticks and makin' me twist and work like crazy. Should'n' my arms be hurtin' by now?"

His friend frowned deeply. "That's definitely weird. Maybe it's your powers. You should the Professor, he could tell you."

"Right. Whatever it is, not hurtin' after a Danger Room session is a dang useful power."

"I'd say it bloody well is!" laughed James. "But we better hurry, mate, or else all the spaces at the poker table'll be filled up!"

"Pass on da poker, _mon ami_. Got a history test, _a demain_."

The shorter boy immediately pouted. "C'mon, mate! Luke's on cloud nine ever since Sofya said she'd go out with him! We might finally be able to get some money out of him!"

"Guess again, boys!" came the Thief girl's voice. She was standing behind them, balancing about ten plates in her arms. "Ah'm playin' tonight."

James blanched. "But what about your kids, luv?"

"Ororo's givin' dem dere baths, so Ah c'n play."

"Poker's off," he hissed to Vincent. "Noelle's brutal at poker – she's sent us all to our rooms in nothing but our underwear."

"'F I remembah correctly, it was only you dat went back in y' underwear, James!" the girl chuckled. "Everybody but _mon frère_ made it t'rough wit dere underwear _an'_ dere socks."

"What about _ton frère_?" Vincent blurted out accidently.

She looked at him in surprise, but answered easily enough. "Ah only got his jacket. He's too good fo' me ta get much else."

There was a crash and a yelp, then a girl screaming "NOELLE HE BROKE THE VASE!!!!!" followed immediately by "DID NOT! NOELLE I DIDN'T!!"

"_Désolée_, boys, duty calls." She put the dishes on the table and left the room.

* * *

_The girl was smaller and younger than he was, but she was the prettiest girl he had ever_, ever_, seen. She turned and beckoned to him, "_Vite! _C'mon! Not too far now! Den Ah c'n get y' some real shoes."_

_He looked ruefully down at his shredded sneakers and then at her small, sturdy black boots. She had already scolded him soundly for such stupid shoes, and promised to give him some better ones – boots, she said. Her brother's old ones._

_She had led him through the back alleys of the French Quarter like a true native, never once hesitating when she went around corners or took shortcuts through backyards and empty stores. They were just crossing Bourbon Street when there was a sudden yell of delight._

_It took only one glance for him to recognize the gang of Thieves. A word spilled out of his mouth and the girl scowled darkly at him. "_Tante_'d have y' hide if y' said dat in front o' her!"_

_Then she caught sight of the group fast approaching them. She repeated his exclamation and grabbed his hand. "_Venez!_" _

_Before he knew what was happening, she had pushed him into a pile of garbage in an alley. "Stay dere!"_

_She turned and ran back out and confronted the Thieves. His heart pounded and his stomach clenched anxiously as his new friend spoke to the wild looking band. He could just see them as the bigger kids loomed over the delicate form of the girl. They seemed huge compared to her, giant, capable of smashing her into a million pieces. _

_One of them pushed her and she fell back hard. Instantly, one of the others had pushed him back, shouting at him, but not loud enough for him to hear what was being said._

_Finally, the group moved on and she returned to him, fresh scrapes on her arms. "C'mon, dey won' be botherin' us fo' a little while. Ah told 'em Ah saw y' headin' fo' da ferries."_

_He grinned at her. "_Merci-_"_

BANG

**Well, another chapter done…. What do you think? REVIEW!**

_**Ferme-la **_**– "Shut it"**

_**Garçon**_** – "boy"**

_**Merde – **_**"Shit"**

_**belle femme – "Beautiful woman"**_

_**Quoi**_**? – "What?"**

_**Une de l'enfer –**_** "One from hell."**

**PS: if you can't tell what Noelle is saying while she's fighting Vincent, she's counting how many times she's touching him.**

_**Mais oui **_**– "Of course"**

_**a demain**_** – "tomorrow"**

_**Vite**_** – ****"Quickly!"**

_**Venez – **_**"Come on!"**


	21. Chapter 21

**And a Merry Christmas to you all! Because of all the eggnog and crap that I drank I was so wired I wrote for days! Now I have crashed and barely have enough strength to post. Revitalize my strength by reviewing!**

Chapter 20

BANG

Noelle leapt up, heart slamming against her ribs. "Sarah?"

"I heard it too," the smaller girl said tersely, getting out of bed herself.

Neither of the two girls bothered trying to change, settling for pulling boots over bare feet and jackets over pajamas before they left their room.

Sarah bolted down to find the source of the explosion, joining the swarm of students milling about in the hallway while the teachers yelled for order. Noelle ran straight to the younger girls' room and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the younger boys huddled in the room with the girls. Also in there was Saya, holding Fatima to her side, Sayuri trembling alongside Dawn and Brianna, and Claire, face whiter than usual with an arm around a sobbing Graziella.

"Wha's goin' on, Ellie?" Claire demanded. "What made dat noise?"

"_Sais pas_," she answered. "But whatever it was, we gotta get y'all outta here."

Hurrying over to the wall that separated her room from theirs, she slammed the flat of her hand into the wood-panel and a section of the wall opened up to reveal a small elevator. "Get in!"

Once all of them were in, she gave quick, sharp orders. "Dis'll take y'all ta a shelter. Don' talk if y' don' have ta. I come get y' when da trouble's ovah. Don' worry-" she gave them all a reassuring smile "-evert'in's gon' be fahne."

"What if you don't come back?" Saya asked, voice shaking.

"Ah will," she said flatly. "Claire, sweetie pie, y' call Mama an' Daddy if Ah'm not back in t'ree hours. Dey'll see dat y'all get back safe."

Her sister nodded, face drawn, but set.

"Da rest o' da kids'll come down dere in a bit." With that last explanation, she closed the panel and sent the elevator down to the shelter.

"Noelle!" Storm had come bursting through the door, printed robe flapping as she ran. "The children?!"

"Taken care of," she said standing up. "Down in da shelter. What about da oldeh ones upstairs?"

"Safe. But the Professor has just informed me that he wants someone guarding them. We are to go the shelter and stay with them-"

Something brushed against the edges of Noelle's empathic abilities – something she had only sensed three times in her whole life. Her blood went absolutely cold and only the training she had received from Cousin Emil kept her face smooth. "_D'accord_, lemme jus' open dis…"

She turned her back on the woman, knelt as though to open the panel, and then kicked back against the woman behind her as hard and fast as she could. Her strike hit bone and she could almost swear she heard bone crack even as 'Storm' tried to leap away.

"Gettin' slow in y' old age, _Grand-Mère_. _Bonjour_, Mystique."

* * *

Vincent came awake as immediately and completely as though someone had delivered an electric shock to his spine. All of his training came out and he rolled out of bed silently and grabbed one of his knives, carefully tucked under his mattress. James was slightly less graceful, falling out of his bed with a thump and a curse.

They left the room to see others milling around in confusion, among them the Thief boy and Alexei. He had just managed to fight his way to the main hallway when a door on the other end of the house slammed open and the Thief girl came sprinting out.

"Logan!" she screamed. "Lucien! Mystique!"

Vincent was nearly thrown off his feet as the Thief boy shoved past him to get to his sister.

"Mystique!" A second Noelle LeBeau charged from the same room.

For a moment, the Assassin thought he was going crazy – the two were absolutely identical, right down to their dark blue star pajamas, leather jacket, and combat boots.

"_C'est moi, Lucien_!" the girls yelled simultaneously. "She's da fake!"

Suddenly the second Thief girl leapt into the air with impossible grace and elegance and flew through the air to tackle the first. With equal suddenness, there was a whirl of silver claws and snarling muscle that could only be Wolverine getting between and grabbing both girls by the scruff of their jackets.

"Stupid," the man growled, his claws glinting in the hallway light. "You should know by now that no two women smell alike."

He ran the second girl through mercilessly and watched grimly as she gasped and seized against his fist, her slender hands grasping his bigger one in a death grip. With a grotesque jerk, Wolverine retracted his claws and let the imposter – or at least the one Vincent hoped to hell was the imposter – fall.

"What did you do?" gasped the Thief girl, staring at the still form on the ground.

"Tricked ya," Wolverine said simply, shoving her down to the floor, where the real Thief girl was waiting to kick the real imposter flush in the stomach.

The fake flew through the air as though she had been hit with a wrecking ball, soaring limply through the hallway leading to the stairs, through a window, and out into the crisp late September night air.

"You alright, Mouse?" Wolverine asked, offering his hand.

"Yeah, Ah'm alraght."

The Thief boy hurried over to his sister, "Wha' da hell's happenin'?"

Professor Xavier managed to fight his way through the chaos – how he pulled that off in a wheelchair, Vincent didn't know – and spoke loudly to the assembly. "She was not alone. I would ask that everyone suit up and meet in the War Room. We will have to thoroughly search the grounds and mansion."

Immediately the crowds of students retreated into their rooms to change into their uniforms.

Vincent, however, stepped forward and addressed Wolverine. "Who was da femme? Da one who looked like da T'ief?"

The fierce man scowled darkly. "Mystique," he spat out. "Shapeshifter. A piece of bad news if there was ever one. If she's around – something major's brewin'."

"Mama ain' gon' be happy ta hear 'bout dis," the Thief boy commented as he gave his sister a once-over, wincing at the blood on her pajamas where Wolverine had pricked her to activate her strength.

"Who says we gotta tell her?" his sister asked briskly. "Go on, Luke. Get y' party clothes on."

"Wait." Wolverine's voice was so sharp and commanding that everyone still in the hallway – which included only Vincent, the Thieves, and him – froze immediately. His voice, if possible went even more authoritative. "Get out of here!"

Before Vincent could even twitch, an explosion of agony stabbed into his chest and he staggered. Several screams of pain distracted him and he recognized one of the yells as his own.

"AWWWW! Wolvie!" said a horrifically familiar voice. "What's a matter? Don't you want the kiddies to see how it's done?"

"Deadpool."

Bang

* * *

After the second explosion Laura Masters-Summers abandoned the idea of attending the meeting – there was no time to waste deciding what they quite obviously had to do. Their home was being attacked.

"Tell the Professor I'm greeting our guests, Alex," she said to her husband with a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Take care of yourself," he told her even as she suited up in her black Kevlar.

"I will. Love you."

And then she was slipping down the roof to confront the people who had dared to endanger the place that had been her home ever since Wolverine had found her wandering through the Canadian woods when she was fifteen.

There were six of them, five standing a little ways in front of one like bodyguards. The woman had no trouble recognizing each one, hissing names as her emerald green eyes zeroed in on each of them – "Sabretooth!" The huge, feral, mutant was with a man made entirely of crystal, "Prism." A tall, well-muscled woman with short black hair. "Arclight." A scrawny, skinny guy in black leather. "Scrambler." A huge Sentinel with the image of a jeweled choker around its neck. "Malice." In the back was a skeletally thin man with paper white skin, oil black hair and glowing red eyes. "Sinister."

She made her way to the ground and got into position.

Took a deep breath.

Struck.

* * *

Professor Xavier had barely made it into his room when several shrieks of pain rent the air. Barely seconds after the screams was another earth-shattering bang.

What was going on?

_Logan?_

_Not now, Chuck! Stay in your room! Tell the rest of the students!_

Furrowing his brow, the telepath reached out to every mind with the simple order to remain in their rooms. Alex interrupted his message to tell him that Laura had gone out to face the intruders alone. That changed things.

_Senior X-Men! Talon is outside! Assist her!_

_Understood_, was the general assent.

* * *

Noelle whipped around to see Logan scrambling to his feet, ignoring the bloody patch spreading across his bare chest. Lucien was flat on his back, a hole in his stomach, and Vincent had a familiar knife stuck up to its hilt in his heart. What felt like raindrops were repeatedly hitting her face.

"What's wrong?" complained Deadpool as he stood in the hallway, firing his gun pointblank at her. "Why aren't you dying? This isn't fair! You're supposed to be dying – how come you're not dying?"

Her blood seemed to have frozen in her veins at the sight of her brother's blood even as her father's voice sounded in her head: "Y' look afteh each other, _d'accord_?"

She would never be able to remember what she had done later, but suddenly Deadpool was lying in a bloody heap at her feet, blathering on and on about how it wasn't _fair_ that neither his bullets nor his swords worked on her and how it was so cool that she had super strength and could she teach him to rip people's arms off.

Someone was screaming for Monica, a raw and panicked sound, but Noelle – no, _Kestrel_, now – was in no mood to pay attention to the wild voice, her eyes focused solely on her brother's. She pressed gently on the wound, trying not to crush his ribcage.

A hand rested on her shoulder and she spun, her hand balling into a fist and going to tear whoever it was' head off their neck.

Logan was crouching beside her, eyes serious and urgent. "Stop screaming, Noelle."

The one making that terrible noise was her? The screaming stopped and she was suddenly aware of her raw throat. It had been her.

"What's going on?" Monica demanded in her yellow silk pajamas with Alexei, James, and Julia hard on her heels.

"Where is Luc – my god," the huge Russian said bending over his best friend.

"Bloody hell! Vincent! Lucien!" James gasped.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Cyclops demanded, coming down the hall in his X-men uniform.

"C'n somebody get dis damn knife outta mah chest?" demanded the blond Assassin, struggling to sit up.

"My god, man, are you still alive?" James' mouth was hanging wide open – 'catchin' flies' as her mother would say.

"Luke ain't gon' be alright!" Kestrel snarled. "Git y'ass ovah here, Monica!"

"What are you people doing out of your rooms?" Cyclops was yelling. "Get those two to the medical bay!"

Ignoring the livid field commander, Kestrel shifted to make room for Monica as the blonde young woman hurried over to examine her motionless brother. He had turned a nasty grey color and was shaking terribly. He had gone into shock.

"Lucien? _Mon frère?_ C'n y' hear meh?" his sister asked, tenderly taking his limp hand and was delighted to feel the faintest squeeze.

"T'ink Ah got shot, _petite_," Luke whispered.

She laughed weakly. "An' here Ah t'ought y' were stupid, _mon frère_."

"Looks like a clean shot," Monica said quietly.

"'Course it is!" sang the bloody heap that was Deadpool. "My shots are always clean! Can't say the same about my apartment, though!"

Nobody listened to the grounded madman as he went on to describe his collection of rare Japanese swords ("my babies"), his posters of Bea Arthur ("Damn that woman was hot! And her _hands_! Why'd she have to die? Those _hands_!"), his rubber ducks, his smiley face boxers, and on and on and on…

"_Mon dieu, homme!_" Vincent snarled as James removed the knife from his chest. "D'y' ever stop talkin'?"

"Like, you should talk!" Julia retorted, her voice unnaturally high.

"Nope! Now, as I was saying, I personally can't say whether I prefer blondes or brunettes. Blondes are usually more demanding – there was this one that I spent a month with-"

"It's finished," Monica said softly, running a hand over Lucien's lean stomach.

"Easy dere, _belle_," the Cajun laughed easily, sitting up. He looked remarkably hale, considering he had almost died. "I already got a date fo' Friday."

"Damn right, y'do, _imbécile_," Kestrel laughed. "But first we got' get t'rough t'naght. How y'doin' over dere, Vincent?"

"The hole in his chest's almost finished closing up!" James reported.

"I'm almost all better too!" Deadpool called.

Wolverine strode over to him, unsheathing his claws. "Not for long."

"Wait!" Cyclops ordered. "We can't just kill him!"

"Weren't ya listening when I told you about this guy, Shades?" Wolverine growled. "He can't _be_ killed. Freak of nature, and I would know." Then, with terrible swiftness, the short man whipped his claws across the – still talking – Deadpool's throat, slicing it cleanly from his body, and pitched the – _still talking_ – head out through the window Mystique had broken on her way out.

The X-Men leader opened and closed his mouth several times before turning on a new person to bully.

"What the hell was your problem, Noelle?" demanded Cyclops. "Screaming like that, you gave away your position to the intruders."

Vincent couldn't help but be impressed as the young woman stood up with all the grace and poise of a Southern Belle and eyed the man with cool disdain.

"Wit' all due respect ta y', _Monsieur_, Ah don' give a flyin' rat's ass what y' t'ink. _Mon frère_ was dyin' an' Monica was da only one who could help him. Ah'd do it all ovah again in a heartbeat."

The man opened his mouth furiously, but the Wolverine cut him off. "Shut it, Cyclops. Lucien and Vincent were in a bad way – if not for Mouse, Cajun'd be dead."

"Be that as it may, Wolverine," the man said with infuriating superiority. "She just showed blatant insubordination and disrespect to her commanding officer."

Professor Xavier's voice sounded in everyone's head – even Vincent's to his lasting surprise – _Enough! Cyclops, Noelle did what was necessary to save her brother. Now let bygones be bygones and gather the rest of the team! Talon is not doing well._

"Laura? What's wrong with Laura?" Wolverine asked aloud, his voice sharp.

_She is fighting the intruders alone, my friend._

"No, Wolverine!" Cyclops yelled, but the other man had already run to the hole in the wall and leapt out.

The visored man gritted his teeth before turning on the teens. "All of you will get into your uniforms and assemble into your teams and-"

BANG

The Thief boy ran towards the hole in the wall and shoved out a palm. There was a strange warping sound – like a metal sheet being flapped to imitate thunder – and the loud noise redirected itself and the house didn't shake nearly so much.

"Lucien!" Cyclops barked.

Vincent got to his feet and grabbed James' arm. "_Allons, mon ami._ Let's get outta here an' get our uniforms."

"No time!" The Thief girl gasped, pointing out the window. An extremely buff woman dressed in a slick, revealing black leather outfit was standing on the roof of the entrance way, slamming her hands together, causing a shock wave.

Again the Thief boy shoved out his palm and whistled. The brief burst of sound quivered for a moment before swelling into a roar that seemed to deflect the shockwave and knocked the woman clear off the roof.

The teens and Cyclops crowded around the shattered window to see what was going on outside. Just visible in the soft light of the motion detector porch lights were several – wait.

What was – oh SHIT!

Everyone dove away from the wall as the huge hand of what was mistakably a Sentinel dove in to grab one of them.

As Vincent crashed to the ground, he was suddenly aware of a very warm, feminine form pressing to him. Long soft hair brushed against his face and he smelled vanilla, spices, and magnolia. A soft voice sounded urgently in his ear, "Need ta borrow dis, sugah."

Then the tantalizing weight was off him and he was able to see the Thief girl leap into the air, a cold glitter of metal in one hand. She flew towards the giant robot like a bullet shot from the barrel of a gun. Hitting the Sentinel's chest like a missile, she pushed it back – away from the Institute – and slammed a graceful, bloody fist into its shoulder.

The entire arm ripped off and the Sentinel made a terrible screeching scream. It sounded suspiciously like: "YOU BITCH!"

But the Thief wasn't finished as she got a firm grip on the Sentinel's head and ripped it off. For a moment the huge machine tried to stagger around headless, making feeble grabs in the air to catch the young woman circling it like a bird of prey. Then, there was another horrible screech, "YOU FUCKING BITCH!!!"

"T'anks fo' dat!" Kestrel laughed as the Sentinel fell to the earth with a deafening crash. She floated to rejoin them and tossed the knife back to him. "_Merci_."

A blast of blinding light appeared and the Thief yelped and threw her arms over her face. It was coming from what looked like a male version of Julia/Bijou.

Snarling, Cyclops fired his optic beams at the stranger – and then gasped as the red beams bounced off the gleaming hide and came straight back at them.

"Watch out!" Bijou shoved the older man aside and threw her small hands out to the approaching red light.

A diamond shield appeared in front of them, neatly redirected the nasty beams and sent them straight towards the motionless Sentinel lying on the ground.

The robot exploded with enough force to rock the entire house.

"Well, lookie what we've got here!" the crystal man jeered. "What do you make o' this, Arclight?"

The buff woman the Thief had blasted off the roof came limping heavily towards him. "Well, Prism, looks Professor Xavier's been forming a kiddie army."

Vincent watched as his companions' faces twisted in fury.

"_Dis!_ Kestrel!" the Thief boy yelled. "Gimme a ride to da ground, will y'?"

"Me too!" Bijou cried, her hard glittering eyes fixed on the mutant Prism.

"No!" Cyclops began, but it was too late. The Thief girl had already swept the two up as though they weighed nothing at all and was bearing hard towards the intruders. "Damn kids!"

**Uh-oh! X-Men VS Marauders! Who will win?**

**Review to find out tomorrow!**

_**Sais pas **_**– "I don't know"**

_**Grand-Mère**_** – "grandmother"**

_**C'est moi, Lucien**_** – "It's me, Lucien"**

_**Mon frère**_** – "my brother"**

_**Mon dieu, homme – **_**"My god, man"**

_**Belle – **_**"beautiful"**

_**Imbécile**_** – "idiot"**

_**Allons, mon ami**_** – "Come on, my friend"**

_**Dis**_** – "Hey"**


	22. Chapter 22

**What is Mystique after? HMMMM....?**

**Read on to find out!**

**Thanks to all my reviewers!**

Chapter 21

Backlash braced himself as his sister dropped him the last six feet to the ground and landed smoothly to face the ridiculously clad bitch threatening his second home. He had been taught to respect women, to see them as more than breasts on legs, but at the same time his mother had told him point blank when he was sixteen, "Sugah, y're gonna meet cougars and bitches out there. Women like Mystique and such – don't try to play nice and chivalrous with them. Fight back and make 'em think twice about messin' with ya. Got it?"

"Got it, Mama," he muttered even as he spread his long legs out, ready for a fight.

"Back off, little boy," snarled the woman. "I don't want to have to break that pretty face of yours."

He allowed a smirk to spread out across his face, "Dat _would_ be a tragedy, _madame_. But Ah don' t'ink dat's gon' happen."

"And why not?"

His smirk reached what his sisters called the "Super Jackass mode". "'Cause y' gotta be able to get close to meh ta crush mah face in."

The woman screeched and slammed her hands together. Backlash could feel the air tremble at the shock wave and moved like lightening to counter, his hands coming up and letting out a sharp whistle.

He felt the sound wave flicker in front of him before he focused on it, making it bigger and stronger. Until it was strong enough to counter the woman's.

Like always, he was shocked at how slowly time seemed to pass when he was using his powers. Shaking that off, he dove at his enemy, trading physical blows as well as sonic blasts strong enough to land her on her ass. But she was good – really good – and he found himself missing his staff – which he had forgotten when throwing on his boots and jacket.

He ducked under a fierce punch and smashed the woman's jaw mercilessly with a powerful uppercut. This was followed by a straight punch and a slightly larger than necessary sound wave that knocked the woman clean across the front lawn and into unconsciousness. "_Merci beaucoup_, Wolverine."

His opponent taken care of, the young Cajun glanced around to find his companions and teammates. Bijou was doggedly throwing punches right and left against the taller crystal guy, all traces of sweetness and ditziness replaced by cold anger. Wolverine and his clone daughter Talon were brutally tag-teaming Sabretooth, kicking and beating the furious – but outmatched – mutant around like a hated football.

Where were the rest of the intruders?

He could see the mangled body of the Sentinel that his sister had taken out. Kestrel herself was approaching the leader of the intruders cautiously. Clenching his teeth in annoyance, Backlash made to go after her when a sharp yell cut through the night.

"Watch your back, Backlash!" James' voice cried out.

All reflexes came alive at that moment and he threw himself forwards, ignoring the sharp pain as his pajamas tore at the knees and fresh blood began to drip down his legs. A skinny Asian looking guy in a black leather jacket shot over his head and landed in a graceless heap.

Snarling, the guy leapt up and dove for him, bare hands outstretched.

"You must not allow him to touch you!" screamed the voice of Bridget Defour, hanging out of a window, her face composed as always.

Don't let him touch you?

No problem – just like training at home with Mama. Don't let your opponent touch their bare skin with yours.

"Get down, mate!" James howled.

Sighing, Backlash pitched himself over backwards, raising his legs in a textbook move that sent his enemy flying over his head and straight into the stream of flames that Blayze had sent his way.

The intruder screamed as the flames immediately began eating at his clothes and started trying to put the flames out by rolling in the dirt.

Backlash ignored him and started again towards his sister who had reached the enemy's leader.

* * *

Claire LeBeau sat with one arm around her friend Graziella and the other around Allison. She hated drills where all of the younger students had to retreat into the shelters until the teachers and the older kids had dealt with whatever threat was on them. And she hated this even more because this was not a drill. She wished she was old enough to fight alongside her siblings.

Her grey-green eyes traveled to the gloves on her hands and the long sleeves and pants she wore in her pajamas. Not one inch of unnecessarily exposed skin was visible. Her fists clenched.

Soon, she vowed. Soon she'd finish learning to control her powers and be able to wear whatever she wanted. Soon she'd wear her own uniform like Noelle and Lucien. Soon.

There was a weird scratching sound close to the shelter's door.

"What's that?" Claire's cousin Eli Wagner whispered.

"Shush!" hissed Christy Alvers. "Noelle said not to talk!"

"_Mes petites?"_

Claire sat up and felt Graziella and Allison both tense. Noelle?

The newer student Estrella called out, "We are in here, _Señorita _Noelle!"

With an exasperated hiss, Claire gave the young Mexican girl a solid kick in the back. "_Qui est?_"

"_C'est moi, Claire_," came her older sister's voice. "_Ouvre le port!_"

Claire narrowed her eyes. She was young, not stupid. "_Qu'est-ce que c'est le mot de passe_?"

Silence for a moment. Then:

"Get the door open, Harpoon," said a dangerous cold voice.

Oh shit.

"Get away from da door!" she hissed, scrambling backwards.

Too late.

An explosion rocked the ground and dust was shot into the air. The entire shelter descended into chaos; kids were trying to get out, there was screaming and wild bursts of uncontrolled powers as they panicked.

Keeping a firm grip on Graziella and Allison, Claire kept low and to the wall as she made her way out. Despite her skinny arms, the small Cajun girl was plenty strong and easily steered her friends out. They made it out into the metallic hallways of the under level and took off running.

"We gotta find da teachers o' da oldah students!" she panted to the girls clinging to her gloved hands.

"Stop her!" howled a voice.

A surge of dizziness hit her so hard that she fell over completely. Everything was spinning and she couldn't find her feet.

_Ah'm gon' be sick!_

* * *

The only warning Sniper and Blayze got was a sharp bit of cackling and a yell of "TAG!"

Sniper dove on his friend as a smattering of gunshots erupted behind them. It was Deadpool, his head wobbling alarmingly on his neck, but firing a semi-automatic pistol briskly.

_T'ink fast! T'ink fast!_ He chanted wildly to himself. "James! Blayze! Fire! On 'is gun! NOW!"

Flames erupted around them and suddenly Deadpool was completely illuminated by bright flames consuming his hand and gun. There was the telltale popping noise of bullets exploding from extreme heat and, throwing caution completely to the wind, Sniper charged wildly, eyes fixated on his enemy. "Set it all on fire, _mon ami_!"

"Hey!" Deadpool howled as his entire body burst into flame. "Watch the uniform! It's dry clean only! How is Mrs. Fongwong supposed to get third degree burns out?"

But Sniper didn't give a shit as he charged the insane intruder. But Deadpool wasn't finished. He pulled two, red hot katana from his back and swung them expertly through the air.

Okay. These moves he knew. Thank God for Wolverine's crazy training sessions – just a month and he was pretty damn good.

But his opponent wasn't just 'pretty damn good'. He made even Wolverine look like a sci-fi geek swinging around a plastic lightsaber. The glowing red blades whisked through the air like angry bees and as Sniper dodged around them, his bare feet protested being made to walk on torn up grass and loose stones.

"Wow! You're pretty good!" the flaming man said brightly. "Too bad I haveta kill ya! Otherwise we could get a beer and talk about my swords and all the girls I've screwed and Bea Arthur and Bea Arthur's hands – man, she was sexy! – and all the girls I've screwed…"

Without so much as a break or pause in his babbling, the mercenary made an expert, lightening fast jab that sent the younger man sprawling backwards in the dirt. The figure of a cheerful smile beneath the mask, the masked weirdo swung his swords up.

"Bye-bye!"

"Light 'im up, Blayze!!"

WHOOSH

And Deadpool disappeared in a column of sheer flames – though Sniper could swear that he could still hear the freak talking about his beautiful uniform and did they have any idea how hard it was going to be to get it clean after being reduced completely to flames? Huh?

Hopping to his feet, Sniper backed away from him, keeping an eye on the swords. There was no way someone like Deadpool – not that he had much experience with people like Deadpool, unless you counted his mother – would just lay down like that. No way in hell he was…

Yeah. That was more expected.

"Get down!" he shouted, diving to the ground to avoid the whirling sword Deadpool had just sent spinning through the air. Instincts screaming at him louder than his mother during a training session back home, the young Assassin rolled hastily to his feet and ended up having to somersault out of the way as the second blade came whistling out of the inferno that was Deadpool. "_Désole, monsieur_," he panted. "Y' missed."

Without waiting for a reply, Sniper turned and ran, grabbing Blayze and a still hot sword, and going back towards the Institute. "C'mon!"

They had made it maybe six feet when the huge wooden front doors burst open and three people came loping out. In the center leading, was a tall woman with blue skin and yellow eyes who bore a startling resemblance to Alana. Besides her was a disturbingly skinny young woman with yellow-green hair and white skin. Bringing up the rear was a solid young man carrying a motionless figure over his shoulder.

A motionless figure with dark hair streaked with stark white.

Claire LeBeau.

Shit.

"Out of my way!" snarled the blue woman, slamming into his shoulder rudely.

Vincent, Prince of the New Orleans Assassins' Guild, reacted just as he had been bred to. He rotated the sword once in his wrist to familiarize himself with it and slashed.

Screeching, the blue bitch threw herself out of the way and seemed to liquefy before his very eyes. In a moment, a snarling Wolverine was before him.

A shapeshifter.

"Mystique."

"Vertigo!" fake Wolverine snarled.

The ground lurched under his feet. He couldn't catch his balance…

Whoosh

The green haired woman screamed as her hair caught on fire. Immediately the world straightened out and he got his bearings – just in time to avoid being gutted by the fake Wolverine. The sword came back up and he hoped against hope that his training sessions would be enough to keep him from being completely skewered.

The imposter snarled and charged towards him, but Sniper was ready and easily hooked the sword into the vicious claws and threw them off. Another swipe. This time Vincent swung the sword as hard and carefully as he could directly at the claws – they weren't really adamantium, they were only bone… right?

Right.

The gleaming blade – Deadpool hadn't been lying, he _did_ take good care of his blades – cut straight through the claws and 'Wolverine' staggered backwards, howling in pain. He stabbed forward, hoping to run the creature through, but fake Wolvie dove out of the way and Sniper found himself staring head on into the face of an oncoming spear.

Yelping, he threw himself onto his back and watched with horrified fascination as the projectile soared over his head and thunked into the ground behind him.

BANG

A concussion of sound hurled him into the air as the harpoon erupted into flying flames. Landing painfully on his side, the young Assassin rolled back to his feet and released a quick breath of relief as the fire of the explosion parted like the Red Sea around him and lit up the bastard who had thrown the spear. Agonized shrieks rent the air as the idiot ran around, waving his arms like a panicking chicken.

But –

Where was the girl?

Where was the youngest Thief?

* * *

Kestrel yelped as a fierce invisible wall seemed to rise up and smash her backwards just before she could get her lethal hands on that… that… _thing_. Normally, she wasn't frightened by mad scientists but there was something about this one that made her skin crawl – made her want to tear him into tiny bloody pieces and throw him far away from her home, away from her friends, her family, and her children. Away from _her_.

The way he was looking at her wasn't helping either. Blood-red eyes glittered at her, but the color and demonic glint did not frighten her, it was the way he was staring at her made her blood run cold. He looked at her with pure hunger and clear purpose.

Purpose was dangerous – it meant someone with a plan, someone who tended to know what they were doing…

Shit.

"See somethin' y' lahke, _Monsieur_?" Kestrel asked, hovering. She had taken her defiant, Queen of the sky pose: chin high, back straight, shoulders back, one leg curled up beneath her, and her arms crossed over her chest.

It made her more confident – the sky was hers after all. Had been ever since she had learned to fly – all hers for the taking.

"I am merely admiring your fine lines, Miss," said the vampire-looking intruder in a disturbingly cultured voice. "At this angle you appear as an angel from one of the biblical myths. Your powers I am especially impressed by. I noticed that you did not attempt to confront Malice until you had purposefully spilled a bit of your own blood, why is that?"

"Dat ain't none o' y' business," she told him with frosty politeness.

He looked at her mildly. "Cajun. You wouldn't happen to be related to a Mr. Remy LeBeau, would you? You have his cheekbones."

She didn't answer him. "What're y' doin' here? I's a little late ta be makin' house calls."

"Mm. Well, you see, I am here to obtain a subject for my latest series of studies. I had tried to approach another with similar powers, but she declined."

"Y' lookin' fo' a guinea pig." Mama had always taught her to say what she meant – not to sugarcoat unless she absolutely had to.

"I suppose you could say that," the intruder said with an unmistakable trace of coolness in his voice.

"Who is it?"

"I am afraid that it is not to my advantage to tell you, Miss. You would try to stop me."

"Actually, Monsieur," she snarled. "Ah'm plannin' ta stop y' now."

She dove down like a bird of prey – like the bird she had named herself after – and slammed into the shields the intruder raised. Snarling, she pushed and the walls gave just the slightest bit.

"Mission accomplished!" barked Mystique's unforgettable voice. "We've got her!"

The walls shoved against her and she staggered through the air before catching her balance once again and searching the ground for the vampire-looking guy.

Gone.

She spun around, eyes scanning.

FWISH

A red bolt of energy flew past her body and she was forced to abandon her search for the intruder and spin around to look at her new attacker.

What the hell?

Standing a little ways away, eyes glazed and blank was Alex Masters-Summers, codenamed Havok. A weird looking choker thing – much like what the Sentinel had been wearing was around its neck – glowed dully at his pulse point. His eyes were glazed over by a strange, foreign expression of malice.

His hands were glowing bright red as he punched an arm at her.

OH. SHIT.

* * *

Sniper sprinted to keep up with Blayze, who was throwing handfuls of flames at the backs of the retreating enemy. He could see the Thief girl now; she was being carried by the blue shapeshifter.

A crash of thunder heralded the arrival of Ms. Ororo and soon everyone on the ground was staggering under the force of powerful gusts of wind and sheets of rain falling sideways.

A soaking mess of long blonde hair, trenchcoat and claws was swept into the air, along with the broken pieces of the Sentinel.

"Bloody hell!" James screamed into the wind. "Sabretooth!"

There was a whoosh that nearly knocked them down and a bolt of white-blue lightening came streaking down and split into two blinding prongs that hit both Sabretooth and the Sentinel with deafening explosions. With another blast of wind, the two figures were tossed out to sea.

The wind died down and the two young men were able to stand upright. The shapeshifter was gone, the big guy who had been throwing exploding spears at them was lying motionless as a pile of blackened ash, and the skinny girl with green hair was lying unconscious with vicious burns spread across her body. A naked form of pink flesh knitting itself together and muttering something about 'stupid fire' might have been Deadpool, but it was hard to tell.

Where was…

There!

"Dere she is!"

He bounded after her, only barely noticing that no one was behind him, they all seemed to be going towards a tall shape firing red light into the air.

The dark, lean form of the blue woman was practically invisible in the shadows of the moonless night but to someone who had been raised in the dark green-grey shadows of the Louisiana swamps, it was like a game of hide and seek. The only problem was his bare feet, now bleeding and aching terribly as he ran. Clenching his tongue between his teeth, he kept running, leaping over fallen logs and trying to avoid anything overly sharp. He could only hope his healing ability would kick in quickly.

There was no question of her not seeing him, he could see the glint of the woman's cold golden eyes glaring at him occasionally over her shoulder. Oh yeah, she knew he was there.

His hand went into his pajama pants' pocket and he drew out the knife Deadpool had thrown at him. For the first time since this whole mess had started, he recognized that it was his Uncle's knife.

He felt the familiar molecules in the handle and in the steel blade. Sensed the molecules that made up the woman running before him. Sensed the more foreign molecules in the sword. Sensed the molecules that made up the small girl the woman was carrying…

Sniper hesitated a moment – which one to bring down? – before making a decision.

He took aim and threw.

* * *

The first clue Kestrel got that something was horribly, terribly wrong was when Graziella came tearing out of the building, covered in soot, screaming, "_Signorita_ Noelle!"

The crazed-Havok looked and immediately raised his hands at the defenseless girl. Before he could do much else, Talon tackled him and pinned him down in the dirt. But the Kestrel was already rocketing towards the young mutant.

Reaching her in seconds, she swept up Graziella in her arms. "Wha' in da name o' da_ Sacre Mère de Dieu_ are y' doin' out here? Ah tol' y' ta stay-"

"Claire!" sobbed Graziella. "They took Claire! A big man with sharp sticks, a girl with green hair, and a blue lady! They took Claire!"

The world froze and Kestrel suddenly couldn't breathe. That vampire reject was after Claire.

Claire.

_Claire!_

**Uh-Oh! What will Vincent decide to do? Will he hit Mystique or Claire? Who will survive? Why am I talking like this?**

**Review!!**

_**Merci beaucoup**_** - "Thank you very much"**

_**Mes petites**_** – "My little ones"**

_**Qui est ? **_**– "Who is it?"**

_**C'est moi, Claire **_**– "It's me, Claire"**

_**Ouvre le port!**_**– "Open the door!"**

_**Qu'est-ce que c'est le mot de passe**_**? – "What is the password?"**

_**Sacre Mère de Dieu**_** – "Holy Mother of God"**


	23. Chapter 23

**Alright everyone, as promised here is your next chapter!**

**Does Vincent hit Mystique or Claire? What happens to Deadpool? What happens to Noelle? Review and find out!**

Chapter 22

Mystique fell screeching to her knees as the sword sank mercilessly right between two of her vertebrae and dropped her neatly. But before she had even begun to keel over on the ground, a white skinned, red-eyed man darted from the shadows of a nearby tree, grabbed the motionless young Thief girl and ran off.

"Sinister! Get back here you bastard!!!" screamed the blue skinned woman, trying and failing to get up.

Sniper just kept running, barely stopping to wrench the blade from her spine. The shapeshifter screamed as though someone was trying to peel her skin off.

He had to hurry. That was _his_ target and he was going to be the one to kill her. Besides, he was getting the nasty feeling that if the stranger got away with the girl, he would never see either of them again. His mother would never accept as 'disappeared into the night with a weirdo never to be seen again' as a cause of death.

And he would be damned to hell before he would let some Dracula-wannabee steal _his_ target.

His knife flew through the air and, just like with the blue woman, he landed the blade right through the vertebrae. But the man remained on his feet, and turned as calmly as though Sniper had called, rather than thrown a knife at him. "I am afraid I am in a bit of a hurry, young man. I do not have time to play."

Sniper suddenly found himself flying through the air as though a giant had punched him squarely in the chest. He was stopped very painfully by a large tree and felt something in his rib cage crack.

"Good evening," the man said with flawless manners and trotted off.

The sound of an engine starting thrummed through the air. Sniper cursed. The bastard was leaving!

No time to waste.

He leapt to his feet and ran as fast as he possibly as he could toward the motor's growling, knuckles white around the sword and knife. It turned out to be a very compact plane sitting under extremely impressive camouflaging that the man was hurrying towards, a remote control in his hand, which Sniper assumed he had used to start the aircraft.

Only one shot at this.

His body was in agony from all the running, fighting, the bullet wound to the heart, his cracked ribs, his burned hands, his shredded feet, and all the healthy smoke inhalation he had suffered. All of his Assassin training was coming in handy here… stealth … the ability to shove pain aside and focus completely on the mission… and timing…

He had to move in three… two… one!

Leaping forward, he thrust his sword and managed to slice clear through the guy's free arm (he didn't dare try his swordsmanship so close to the Thief girl), all while swiping back his knife which had been sticking out the of the man's back gruesomely. Blood spurted into the air, but Sniper was too focused on getting the girl back to care.

His target. His to kill.

His, dammit!

He planted a bare, bloody – but rapidly healing – foot into the guy's back and kicked hard, grabbing the small girl's arm and wrenching her away from her kidnapper. But the guy had noticed and had tightened his grip.

Sniper gritted his teeth – this bastard was strong!

A tiny bare hand suddenly whipped out and slapped itself onto the man's white cheek.

The Thief girl was awake. And she was doing something really creepy to the stranger. Sniper had heard about her absorption powers, but he hadn't quite understood the full meaning of it until now.

Veins were standing out under the man's paper-like skin, his red eyes were practically bulging from their sockets, and he had a frozen look of horror on his face.

"Make him go," whispered the Thief, voice strangled and horrified. Her hand was still pressed to the man's cheek, almost as though she was unable to break contact.

Sniper scooped up the girl under his arm and shoved the man and his severed, slightly shriveled, arm brutally into the plane. It took only seconds to find the gas tank and a minute to set it all on fire.

He ran for cover, the girl in his arms, and just managed to get behind a sturdy old oak before the whole machine went up in an explosion of flames.

Once the fire calmed a bit and airplane parts stopped flying around, he began gathering up the Thief girl in a more sturdy position.

"Don' touch mah skin!" she moaned before going very still.

She was still conscious – but she didn't seem to want to move on her own, nor did she try to speak again besides the occasional whimper. So he took her carefully into his arms, mindful of her bare neck, face, and hand, and trudged back to the Institute, heavy with exhaustion.

It was only after a few minutes did he realize the significance of the last ten minutes.

He had saved one of _them_. Was carrying her back like she was an actual person, like an innocent child. Like she was… was… was not a target!!

She was holding onto his neck, long sleeves separating their skin even as she trembled horribly. Her long, curly multicolored haired head was tucked up under his chin.

Why hadn't he just let them take her? It wasn't like his mother would care how the girl died so long as she was dead, he could have said he saw one of the intruders shoot her or something – why couldn't he put aside his possessiveness of his kills? Why wasn't he killing her now?

No one was around to see him if he did decide to do something.

Why wasn't he doing anything?

Why?

He tried to drop the girl but his arms stayed protectively around her. He tried to strike out with Deadpool's sword, which he was still clutching in his left hand, but he couldn't. Then he tried with his knife, tucked safely in his pocket, but it was as if he had been frozen in the act of carrying the Thief back.

It was because he wasn't used to killing children. Yeah, that was it. He'd go with that. Yeah, that was good.

"Claire!" The older Thief girl – her hair singed and her pajamas torn and scorched – screamed as she dropped down from the sky abruptly.

Sniper was taken a bit aback; he had never seen her eyes so wild or so frightened – angry, alarmed and furious, yes, but never so completely terrified.

"I've got her!" he tried to say, but his voice wheezed pathetically.

"Y're safe!" The young woman threw her arms around the child and cradled her against her chest, taking the girl out of his grip.

"Noelle?"

"_Oui, c'est moi_, sweetie pie."

"_Qu'est-ce que c'est le mot de passé_?" the younger girl asked.

"We ain' got one, sweetie pie," Kestrel said softly.

"Noelle, he's in mah head… he was gon' do… he was gon'…"

"Claire! Noelle?" It was the Thief boy, looking wild-eyed and much the worse for wear.

"_Arrêté!_" snarled the Thief girl. "_Comment t'appelles tu?_"

"_Je m'appelle Lucien Emil LeBeau_," he answered instantly. His voice stretched strangely and seemed to somehow pick up an echo.

The girl nodded. "Dat's you. C'mere an' take Claire. Get 'er ta da Professor. T'ink she drained somebody."

"Ah did..." moaned younger Thief. "Sinister. Dat's wha' he calls himself… He's hurtin' me!"

The Thief girl carefully laid the girl into her brother's arms. "Get movin'!"

"Noelle…" the Thief boy's eyes were on Sniper.

"_Allé_! Ah gotta talk ta Vincent alone."

The guy sighed deeply, but went, muttering soothingly to his younger sister as he disappeared.

And so Vincent was left alone with an alarming looking Master Thief – her eyes focused on him and her face looking even sharper. She had to be thinking he had been about to kill her sister. He remembered her warning; his hand went immediately to his knife, his eyes darted for the sword lying beside his foot, and he began looking for vulnerable places to stab.

The neck… the eye… the heart… the temple… the major arteries in her arms…

His jaw clenched and the hand on his knife tightened as she approached him. Closer… closer…

This was it. He drew his knife out and rearranged his grip on the sword…

Would anyone believe that he had killed her out of necessity or would he have to leave the Institute? He could smell her scorched bangs and a hint of magnolias…

He gripped his blades and got ready to fight.

She threw her arms around him and kissed him on both cheeks. "_Merci. Merci beaucoup_."

Vincent couldn't move. Could barely think. He dropped the sword. It felt like the smell of her was fogging his mind, allowing only select thoughts to muddle through his brain.

She was hugging him. She had kissed him.

_Que l'enfer?_

"Wha…?" was his extremely eloquent request for an explanation, his knife falling from his limp fingers.

"_Merci beaucoup, Vincent. Tu as sauvé ma petite sœur_. Consider y' debt to meh repaid."

He stared at her, mouth hanging open like an idiot fish. She bent down, picked up his knife, and then yanked the sword out of the ground.

"Bes' keep a strong hold on dese, Vincent. Dey're good blades." She offered them to him, hilts first and he took each slowly and suspiciously.

As soon as he had a good grip on them, she released both easily. He flinched when she patted him lightly on the shoulder and watched suspiciously as she turned and made to fly away. She stopped suddenly and looked back at him. "Wanna rahde?"

"Dis don' change nothin'," he growled. "I jus' saved da little one 'cause… 'cause I did. Don' mean we gon' be friends're nothin'."

Her lips quirked upwards. "_Je sais, Vincent_. Ah ain' an idiot. Jus' t'ought Ah'd offer a rahde. An' only half o' y' doubt's repaid. Still owe meh one more life."

Before he could snarl a comeback to her or demand what the other debt was for, he saw her eyes flicker to his feet. "Y' an idiot, 'Ssassin-boy. Runnin' outta da house 'thout shoes. _Bête fil_."

Something perked up inside of his memories. _"_Bête fil, _doncha know better dan ta go runnin' round N'Awlins 'thout proper shoes? 'Does sneakers ain' gon' do nothin' foh' y' feet. Y'need boots."_

"Don' call meh dat."

"Call 'em da way Ah see em, 'Ssassin boy," the girl said easily enough. "Well… if'n y' don' wan' a rahde…"

And she lifted from the ground lightly and set out to fly gracefully through the trees and into the open sky, leaving him to muddle his way through the dark forest alone.

* * *

Noelle landed on the front steps of the Institute, feeling as though she had just lived through an entire lifetime in less than two hours.

Lucien was waiting for her in the entrance hall, sitting on the stairs, arm around Claire. "_Ça va_, Ellie?"

"_Oui, ça va_. An' don' call meh Ellie. How's Claire?"

"Da Professor jus' finished wit' her. Said she could go ta bed once y' got back. Pro'ly should call Mama and _Père a la demain_. Dey'd wanna hear about dis."

"Sure. 'Morrow."

By the time Noelle managed to stumble back to bed, it was almost dawn. Her body ached from where a possessed Havok had nailed her in the chest with his red energy ball-things. It had taken both her and Talon to pin down the man as he shot off blast after blast until Cicero showed up and managed to purge whatever had been inside him. Then there was the soreness of wrestling the captured intruders – including her dearly beloved adopted grandmother Mystique – into cells created by the Danger Room where they would be held until SHIELD came to pick them all up in the morning. Wolverine and the other instructors were still out there, searching for Deadpool and Sinister, both of whom were nowhere to be found to the intense horror of everyone.

As her head hit the pillow and she immediately began passing out – she thanked God that the Professor had been kind enough to excuse them all from tomorrow's schoolday. Thank God tomorrow – or today actually – was Friday.

And then she was asleep.

* * *

"Ya should've called as soon as the bastards were locked up!" scolded Rogue after Lucien finished explaining last night. "Are ya sure Claire's alrahght?"

"_Oui_, Mama," Noelle said, her face pressed up to her brother's as they shared the phone. "Claire's alrahght. She sleepin' now, but we have her call ya when she wakes up."

"_Le moment exact_," Remy said flatly. "An' who was da _batard_ who tried ta take her?"

"Claire said 'is name was Sinister."

Their father erupted in a wide array of intricate curses, finally ending with a "Dat ain' good."

"_C'est qui?_" Lucien asked.

"An old client," came their father's grim voice. "Crazy as dey come."

"Dunno," Noelle said dully. "Dat Deadpool was plen'y crazy himself."

"Tell meh again how the Assassin saved her?"

"Cain't tell y' much more, Mama," Noelle said wearily. "All Ah know is dat as soon as we pinned Havok down, Ah went lookin' foh Claire an' found her wit' Vincent. He was jus' carryin' her back ta da Institute-"

"Wha'd y' feel?" her father demanded.

"From him? Jus' a lotta confusion, exhaustion, an' bein' real pissed off. He wasn' too happy 'bout somethin'. No killin' intent directed at Claire."

"Dat don' make much sense. I know fo' a fact dat Bella put dat boy t'rough as much conditionin' as she could. He been brought up ta shoot any o' us on sight…"

Nobody spoke, letting Remy muse for a moment.

"What'd ya do afteh Luke left with Claire?" Rogue asked.

"T'anked 'im. Said 'e was no longeh in mah debt fo' savin' his lahfe dat one tahme." She smirked. "Confused him all ta hell, 'specially when Ah told 'im he still owes meh fo' somet'in."

There was a moment in which the four chuckled lightly at the Assassin's puzzlement.

"Keep an eye ta each others' backs," their father said. "Sinister ain' in da habit o' givin' up. He'll try again an' he won't stop 'til she's dead or he is."

"And Ah'd prefer it was him," their mother added immediately.

"_Moi aussi_," was the instant response.

* * *

Vincent sat in the library, in his favorite armchair and racked his brain; she had to be lying. There was no way he owed her a second time. She was lying – that was what Thieves did. They lied. And stole – couldn't forget that.

But why would she say that?

Hah? Was that a joke? She must have noticed he hadn't tried anything since she had saved his ass in Kentucky. Must have figured that if he owed her he wouldn't try anything to hurt her or her siblings.

Well… that made sense. But…

Why did he get the nagging feeling he was forgetting something important? Had she done something to him with her crazy mind powers?

Could empathic powers make him feel this way? Empathy was all about feelings – Monica had told him…

Were these the kinds of feelings that empathy messed with?

He honestly didn't know.

The door to the library opened and a telltale flood of kids came inside, trying and failing to stay quiet. Bringing up the rear was the Thief girl, holding the Summers girl's hand.

"Alraht, _mes petites_," she said to the children in a quiet voice that they all went silent to hear. "Go an' choose da books y' want. I be callin' y'all back in a couple o' minutes. Remember ta choose one y' wan' me ta read t' da group."

The brats scattered, buzzing happily to each other about the stories they were going to get, leaving their caretaker alone to peruse another section of bookshelves.

Vincent left his chair, knife pressed against the palm of his hand.

She looked at him as he entered her row, her fingers twisted absently in the gold chain she always had around her neck. "_Bonjour, Vincent_. Lookin' fo' somet'in'?"

"Wha' do I owe y'?"

She didn't even blink. "Y' owe me y' lahfe."

"T'ought y' said las' nahght dat debt was paid."

"One o' dose debts is paid. One ain't."

"Y' saved mah lahfe onleh once."

An eyebrow cocked lazily at him and she pulled a book from the shelf. "Whateveh y' say. Y' t'ink dis looks good?"

He didn't even glance at the book. "Did y' lie when y' said Ah owed y' somet'in'?"

"Nope," she said, popping the p carelessly. "T'ink Ah'll take dis one. Looks interestin'…"

Vincent grabbed her shoulder and tried to force her to face him. He suddenly found himself lying flat on his face.

Training kicked in and he bucked, knocking her off him and leaping to his feet. She stumbled slightly but quickly caught her balance and her body relaxed and settled into a graceful position. If he made a move she would charge him and things would get seriously interesting.

"Have ta ask y' not ta put y' hands on me dat way, Vincent," she said, her voice calm but hard. "Now. Wha' d'ya t'ink o' dis book?"

He gave it a quick look. It had a knife on it – good enough for him. "_Il a l'air être bon_."

"_Formidable_. Ah take dis one, den." She tossed him another book. "Y' should try dat one. Rahght up y' alley."

"Did y' use y' powers on _moi_?"

She gave him an unreadable look. "If y' gotta ask meh dat, maybe Ah shoulda. Later, 'Ssassin boy."

He could only watch as she called her children back to her and left the library. On a whim he looked at the book and laughed humorlessly. _When the Knife Falls_.

And lo and behold his knife was lying on the ground near one of the shelves.

That was it.

She was playing him. And it was working.

He was going to finish this tonight. Get rid of her.

Nothing was going to stop him.

No debt.

No overprotective teacher with claws.

No pissy older brother.

Nobody.

He needed that girl dead. Now.

She had saved his life and he had repaid the debt – she had said so last night – and now she was trying to take it back.

He was going to make her pay and hang the damn consequences.

Nobody played him and got away with it.

And maybe that nagging feeling he was forgetting something would go away if he killed her.

**Uh-oh! Watch out Noelle! What could happen?**

**Review and I'll tell you!**

_**Oui, c'est moi**_** – "Yes, it is"**

_**Qu'est-ce que c'est le mot de passé**_** – "What is the password?"**

_**Arrêté!**_** – "Stop!"**

_**Comment t'appelles tu**_** – "What is your name?"**

_**Allé**_** – Go **

_**Que l'enfer **_**– What the hell**

_**Merci beaucoup, Vincent. **__**Tu as sauvé ma petite sœur.**_** – "Thank you so much, Vincent. You saved my little sister."**

_**Je sais**_** – "I know"**

_**Bête fil**_** – "Stupid boy"**

_**Ça va **_**– "You alright?"**

_**Oui, ça va**_** – "Yes, I'm alright"**

_**a la demain**_** – "tomorrow"**

_**Le moment exact**_** – "The exact moment"**

_**C'est qui?**_** – "Who is he?"**

_**Moi aussi**_** – "Me too"**

_**Il a l'air être bon**_** – "It looks alright"**

_**Formidable**_** – "Cool"**


	24. Chapter 24

**PHEW! Long chapter! Well, this concludes my after Christmas chapter a day run... But you'll still get another tomorrow since it's Friday.**

**MMMM, this chapter reminds me why I truly love Noelle.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 23

_She stood in front of the Master Thieves Amedeo, Elliot, Stéphane, Ciro, Evaristo and Spyro. The Thief Guildmasters of Europe – of Rome, London, Paris, Madrid, Lisbon, and Athens, respectively. Just behind her was the Guildmaster of her native hunting ground – Jean-Luc of New Orleans. _

"_You stole all of those artworks from the aforementioned collections over the last few years during the summer?" Master Elliot asked, British accent crisp and cool as he folded a piece of paper._

"Oui_, Ah did."_

"_You gave each of those artworks to the Guilds you were staying with at the time, is that correct?" he continued._

"Oui_, Ah did."_

"_And did you steal each of those artworks back from the Guilds you were staying with at the time and return each one to their proper collections precisely two weeks after you had stolen them from their collections?"_

"Oui_, Ah did."_

_The men stirred immediately at this cool affirmative. _

"_You stole prized artifacts from the most skilled criminal organizations in Europe?" Master Elliot demanded. It was not something she was supposed to answer._

_She answered anyway. "_Oui_, Ah did."_

_No one said anything for a long moment._

_Her muscles tensed at the silence. She was standing alone in a room with the most skilled and deadly Thieves in all of Europe and one very unsettling one from New Orleans. This could get ugly very quickly – good thing she had her pocket knife tucked away. One good cut and she was next to indestructible._

_Then Spyro, Guildmaster of Athens, started to laugh. He was a short, sturdy man with unremarkable curly brown hair, a bronzed face, and quick dark eyes, and right now he was rocking back on his heels as he howled with laughter. Evaristo and Amedeo joined in. Then Ciro. _

"Très bien, petite belle_," smiled Stéphane. "Quite an interesting turn, stealing from the Guilds of Europe is a feat quite unheard of and truly worthy of the mark of a Master Thief."_

_She bowed her head in recognition of this high praise. "T'ank y'."_

"_How old are you, _bonita_?" Ciro asked._

"_Sixteen, _señor_." _

"_Sixteen!" _

_Half the men's eyes popped._

"_Don't let this one go, Jean-Luc!" laughed Evaristo. "A prodigy of prodigies, as you say!"_

"_So, is the decision to give her mark and confirm her as a Master unanimous?" Elliot asked, fighting a slight smile._

"_I would say it is!" Spyro laughed._

_She knelt and pulled the back of her shirt up as they readied the brand. It had been created especially for her in the shape of her trademark: the outline of a hunting bird with its wings outspread and in one claw it held a spade and in the other claw a heart. Just in the middle of its chest was the symbol for the Thieves Guild, two keys crossed behind the outline of the round earth. Inside the globe was the mark of the New Orleans Thieves Guild, a fleur-de-lis with a wavy line through it._

_In an attempt to ignore the sound of the brand being heated up in the old fashioned grate in the corner, the young woman went over the meaning of her brand. The bird was herself, the heart her mother and the spade her father. The crest of the Thieves Guild went with the old saying: _The best Thieves need no keys – the whole world is open to them_. Her guild's symbol symbolized the city – her city – and its proximity to th-_

_Her teeth clenched and a light groan had to be cut off as agony cut down against the small of her back. Her whole body trembled with the effort not to move away or even flinch._

"_You, Noelle Caroline LeBeau, are henceforth a T'ief of da highest caliber – a Master," intoned her adopted grandfather as Master Elliot pressed the brand into her skin. "Da world is yo's so long as y' would have it. Long may da door be open to y' and da wind at yo' back."_

_That was wildly appropriate._

_The brand was taken away and Jean-Luc reached to raise her to her feet. "Rise, Lady T'ief."_

_She brushed away his help and stood on her own. "Ah t'ank y'all fo' y' esteem an' yo' opinions as Ah take mah place in yo' ranks."_

_They bowed their heads to her._

_She gave them what could be called a curtsey if she had skirts but what was really a graceful sweeping bow._

_And it was over._

"_So," Ciro said brightly as she hiked up her shirt to keep the cloth from scraping her injured flesh. "Are you going to stay and help your grandfather and work towards being Guildmistress?"_

_She laughed lightly. "Etienne, _mon cousin_'s da heir. An' Ah ain' goin' back ta da Guild." She had to bite her lip to keep from giggling at Jean-Luc's horrified expression. "Ah'm goin' back ta mah school in New York. Join dere team."_

_It wasn't until Jean-Luc escorted her from the room to where her family was waiting and left immediately did they hear a strangled sob. _

"_Looks like 'e jus' figured _la crécerelle_ o' N'Awlins ain' gon' be at 'is beck an' call," her father commented with a grim, satisfied smile. _

_Both her parents abruptly turned to look at something she couldn't see._

"_Ya should wake up now, sugah," her mother said, brow furrowed._

"_Ouvre les yeux!" her father commanded._

Noelle's eyes snapped open to see the glint of Vincent's Boudreaux's knife coming straight at her.

Twisting herself into a roll, she dropped neatly out of bed and bit back a curse as the blade corrected itself and came straight at her. He had used his powers on it; it wouldn't stop until it hit something, preferably one of her vitals. While drawing blood would activate her strength, she was always in danger of bleeding out. Cut her jugular and she would have the strength to crack the earth in half but then she'd be dead as a doornail immediately after.

She had to be careful.

Playing pin the tail on the Thief was not being careful.

One hand going under her bed, she withdrew her short staffs and whisked one through the air, catching the knife on it before it could get to her chest.

Vincent was suddenly on top of her. And not in a sexy way either. More like trying to break her neck in one quick snap. She threw her entire body in the direction he was trying to send her head and managed to get him off. A quick snap of her leg landed straight in his face and she felt his nose break under her bare heel.

Had he known that Sarah was going to be sleeping with her friend Kelsey on the third floor tonight? Or had he just gone crazy? He hadn't exactly been sane earlier.

Either way, this was going to end now.

They were both on their feet now and she was shocked all to hell that no one had heard any of this, but then both of them were the cream of their family's crop. The best. The deadliest. Trained to be absolutely silent in their fighting and – in her case – thieving.

He had another knife in his hand, but was now too close up to throw it with any real strength. He fought with it instead, slashing with quick expert, twisting strikes. If one of those got to her throat, it would not just scratch – the blade would bite deep and tear straight through her artery. She'd be dead before she could do much more than snap his neck.

She'd have to time this careful-

NOW!

Her slender arms snapped forwards as swift and precise as cottonmouths going for the kill. She slammed her hands firmly around the wrist of the arm with the knife and didn't gloat as his hand was forced open and the knife fell away. Instead she hooked an elbow around his outstretched arm and used his own momentum to wrench him closer. He stumbled forward and she slapped her free hand at his sternum, just under his collarbone and redirected his movement.

His legs flew out from under him and he landed hard on his back.

Even as she was dropping him, she opened herself to the emotions of everyone in the Institute. It was dangerous – but wholly necessary.

She could feel Logan's rage as he revisited the dozen or so wars he had fought in, Mr. Summers' heart rending sorrow as he dreamed of the death of his wife, the Professor's worry… not what she was looking for…

There it was… right next door. The feeling of complete contentedness and safety of her children as they dreamt. It made her smile even as she mentally reached for it, took it into herself and redirected to the boy she had just thrown to the ground.

Vincent fought it. His entire chest came up as the foreign emotions hit him. She leaned her whole weight against him, pinning him. She remembered the last time she had been as sleepily happy and safe as the kids: when she had fallen into bed in July after she, her brother and her cousins had run wild through the city, watching the fireworks, lifting wallets off of unsuspecting tourists (she and Lucien only took them and carefully dropped them in front of their owners), and just basically enjoying themselves. They hadn't run into a gang of Assassins, though some of her cousins had been talking about going and finding a rival band just to fight. Rogue had been more than a little annoyed when her two eldest came staggering into the house at past two in the morning and _Tante_ Mattie had been waving her trusty wooden spoon with an ominous expression.

But neither she nor Lucien had cared, choosing to pass out on their beds and deal with their mother and aunt's raging the next morning rather than miss their fun.

Noelle smiled, remembering.

The young Assassin beneath her jerked as though she had electrocuted him. Then everything seemed to drain out of him and his head lolled back.

"W-wha…'d y' do.., t' me?" he was trying to sound angry and hateful. But she could feel his anger, his hatred, his confusion, his desperation and frustration clawing at his mind and firmly shoved it all away. In its place was set the sleepiness, comfort, and happiness… she could feel him giving into it very slowly – his basic need to feel good and safe was reacting to the feelings and latching onto them with the desperation of someone longing for quiet and understanding.

"Calmin' y' down, _mon ami_," she responded, staring hard into his eyes – it was always easier when she did this face to face.

"Don' call… mehat…"

And he was unconscious.

* * *

_She led him to a good-sized house painted green and in the style of all the other French Quarter houses. A stone wall surrounded the front lawn, but she went straight to a small iron fence and beckoned to him. "C'mon, dis mah house."_

_She tried the front door and groaned when she found it was locked. "Dey mus' be out. You stay here, _d'accord_? I go aroun' de back an' let y' in."_

_Before he could form some sort of protest, she had gone to one side of the porch, hopped over the railing into the rose bushes, and vanished. He didn't even have the time to be bored before the front door opened and she beckoned him inside with a brisk, "Don' bleed on de carpet._

"_Everybody's out, but y' c'n stay fo' a little while Ah get da shoes."_

_He ended up sitting in the bathroom, dabbing at his bleeding feet with toilet paper. By the time she returned, his hands, arms, legs and feet were covered in a red, sticky, cottony mess. _

_She giggled and set aside the scuffed boots and white socks. "Y' makin' a mess. Stop dat! I do dat."_

_And so he sat on the toilet as she got a bucket and poured cup after cup of water over his bloody feet and gave him a towel as she began pulling out the Band-Aids and antiseptics. "Ain't got anythin' but grownup Band-Aids."_

"_Da's – OW! – okay," he gasped as she poured liberal amounts of burning antiseptic over his feet. _

"_Stop bein' _un bébé_! Da stingin' means i's workin'!"_

_When his feet were all bandaged up she gave him the socks and then the boots. "Might be a little tahght."_

_He tugged them on. "Dey fit _parfaitement_."_

"_Y' got smaller feet den _mon frère_." She grinned brightly at him and her hands went to her golden cross – only it wasn't there._

_Her little tanned face and her bright eyes went very still and she rather desperately peered down the front of her shirt to try and find it. "_Ma croix_! 'S gone! _Où est-elle_?"_

_He tried to get up, but she immediately pushed him back down. "_Non, non_, don' worry none 'bout it. Prob'ly lost it when Ah got pushed down. I go look fo' it later." Her lips were trembling slightly but she was smiling determinedly. "Y'clothes're still wet. Did'y' wan' dry ones? _Mon frère_ wouldn' miss 'em."_

"_Dat's okay," he said quickly. "I got' be gettin' home anyways. _Ma mere_'ll be worried."_

"D'accord_." She grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet. "Y' sure y' don' wan' somethin' ta eat? _Tante _lef' some o' her bread out. Wan' some?"_

_He was about to politely refuse when his stomach spoke up quite loudly and he blushed. _

_She giggled and pulled him into a very clean kitchen. Sitting on a well scrubbed wooden table was a huge loaf of fresh baked bread; she tore off a chunk, ripped it in half and gave him the larger piece. "Y' bigger dan me, so y' need a bigger piece."_

_The bread was the best thing he had ever tasted – even better than Claudette's gumbo that his mother claimed could outdo anything the angels could whip up. His new friend saw him out onto the front porch and gave him directions to Bourbon Street. "Jus' go down dis road 'til y' get ta da big ugly pink house wit' da yellow trim, den y' take a left and go all da way down 'til da road ends. Den a rahght'll take y' straight ta Bourbon. Got all dat?"_

"_Rahght at da big ugly pink an' yellow house, an' den a left when da road ends."_

"_Left! Den rahght! Ah go wit' y' – make sure y' don' get lost."_

_He shook his head wildly. "Non! Dat's okay. I be okay."_

"_Okay… don' say Ah didn' offer y' help!"_

"_I be fine!" He started down the steps – then stopped. _

_And turned._

_She blinked at what he was offering her. "Wha's dis?"_

* * *

Vincent woke up feeling very warm and contented… He was dimly aware that something was off… but he was too comfortable to move…

Something very sharp poked him firmly in the throat.

Okay, happy feeling gone.

His eyes snapped open to see the Thief girl over him looking annoyed, her lips pressed together in thin line, brow furrowed and chin set. She was holding his knife at his throat.

Looking into her grey-green eyes – which had gone from soft grayish-green to a sharp metallic silvery-emerald – the memories of his attempted assassination came back in a whoosh. He bit back a curse and lay very still as he rushed through all of moves open to him at the moment.

Even flat on his back he recognized the library. He could see the grey light of early dawn straying in through the window, dappling across the wooden shelves and the leather-bound books. He was lying on the carpet, not far away from where they had gotten into the tussle yesterday. The Thief girl had straddled him in her green shorts and navy blue camisole, positioned in just the way to cause him some serious damage if he tried anything.

Needless to say, he tensed up quite a bit.

"_Du calme_, 'Ssassin boy!" she hissed at him. "If Ah wanted y' dead, I'd'a called in _Monsieur_ Logan when y'started attackin' me. Or I'd o' done it while y' were asleep. Ah could still do it, but Ah t'ink Ah've made mah point – y' wan' talk now?"

There was a certain logic to this, but: "I'd be more inclined ta b'lieve ya if y'd get mah blade away from mah throat."

She shrugged, the knife never wavering. "Cain't do dat, _mon ami_. See, if Ah took da blade away from y'throat, y'd try an' attack meh again. An' Ah t'ink we need ta discuss some t'ings. Seems like we still need ta clear up a coupla t'ings – mah advice evidently didn' sink in all da way."

Alright, his neck was seriously cricking from craning it to keep an eye on the knife. "Don' suppose we could have dis conversation sittin' up? Ma neck's startin' ta hurt."

His mother would have slapped him for that, but the Thief merely gave him a hard look. "Swear on y' word as an Assassin an' Ah'll let y' up."

Clenching his teeth, he spat out the traditional words, "On mah word as an Assassin, y' are safe wit' meh 'til y' leave dis room. I will cause y' no harm nor allow any harm ta come t' y'."

"_Merci_." She got off of him and sat very neatly besides him. "Now. T' business. What da hell were y' t'inkin', attackin' me like dat?"

"T'ought y' knew da score, T'ief," he smirked, pushing himself into a sitting position. "Y' know what I'm here fo'."

She rolled her eyes. "So afteh a night o' intense battle, stress, an' fightin' all aroun', culminatin' in y' savin' _ma petite sœur_, y' decide ta attack me? 'Fraid dat's just a little stupid, 'Ssassin boy."

"How's dat?" he demanded, eyes narrowing. "Y'd have y' guard down! Wouldn' be expectin' it –"

"_C'est faux, mon ami_. Y' tol' _moi_ y'self dat nothin'd changed b'tween us – wha' kinda T'ief would Ah be if Ah took everyt'in' foh' granted?"

"_Quelqu'un mort?_"

She smiled a bit, "_Exactement_. An' Ah haven' worked dis hard an' come dis far ta get stupid now. But back ta y'. Y' were bein' smart – gettin' a handle on our schedules, plannin' on catchin' meh an' Lucien alone, stayin' quiet an' integratin' y'self inta da Institute. Wit' Wolverine trainin' y', y'd prob'ly be ready ta take us on by da end o' da year. But now y' got stupid an' Ah wan' know why."

He snarled at her. "Listen, T'ief girl, I don' take too kind t' mah mind bein' messed wit'. Doin' dat earns y' death soon's I can give it."

The Thief looked affronted. "An' jus' wha' was Ah supposed ta do? Let y' kill meh? 'Sides, not lahke Ah did anythin' serious, jus' calmed y' down enough t' put y' ta sleep. Was jus' ta make a point."

Huh? "I ain' talkin' 'bout that! Talkin' 'bout in here an' all dat talk 'bout me owin' y' mah lahfe when y'd already said mah debt was paid!"

Her mouth was hanging open. Finally, she managed a flat: "Dat's wha' dis all about? Dat stupid debt?"

"I's about y' tryin' ta play me!" He wished he had gotten his knife into her throat before she had woken up.

Her graceful coppery eyebrows arched coolly. "Sugah, if Ah was playin' y', I can assure y', y' wouldn' have da slightest clue you was bein' played."

"So how do I know y' ain' playin' me now?"

She cocked her head and smiled at him. That weird nagging feeling that he was forgetting something rose in his chest.

"Y' don'. _Mais je te promise_, on mah sister's lahfe. Ah ain' playin' y'."

Vincent remembered the wild look on the Thief's face when she thought her younger sister was hurt. He looked hard at the girl's face, the fierce unwavering silver-emerald eyes, and the hard set of the jaw. "_D'accord_, Ah believe y'."

To his immense displeasure, she scoffed outright. "Frankly, don' give a flyin' rat's ass if y' b'lieve me o' not, Vincent. Jus' wan'ed ta know what all _la stupidité_ was about."

He wished he had his knife. "But y' used y' powers on me."

"_Ferme-la_, 'Ssassin boy. Ain' gettin' inta dis wit' y' again." She stood up and dusted off her pajamas. "Now, if y'd be so kind, get y' ass back inta y' room."

"Y' a Master."

That caught her attention. "_Quoi_?"

"Y' a Master T'ief."

She blinked. "_Oui, je le suis._ Now kindly get y' carcass back t' y' own bed."

He didn't move, just looked her over critically. "Y' only sixteen, how'd y' get ta be a Master?"

A slow smile stretched across her face, "One day Ah tell y' da story if y' good." With that, she stood up and strode off, her bare feet silent on the soft carpet. "_Merde, c'est trop tard de retourner pour me coucher._"

He smirked a bit at that.

"Oh," she said, as if as an afterthought before leaving the room. "Try dis wit' Claire an' Ah will tear y' head off. _A bientôt, Vincent_. An' y' still owe meh one more lahfe."

He didn't trust her. Respected her – you didn't get your ass knocked out by a half-asleep target and not be impressed – but didn't trust her. He couldn't tell if she was lying or not about playing him and using her powers on him… But she had been right, she could've killed him right here and he seriously doubted anyone would be very upset with her for putting a knife across his throat and letting him bleed out after he had attacked her while she was asleep.

This indicated that she either didn't want to kill him, or didn't care enough about him to kill him. The second wasn't likely. Her not caring one way or another about killing him meant she also wouldn't much care if she had to kill him – and it was obvious she simply didn't want to have to kill him over herself.

Which didn't make any sense at all.

It was only as he began making his way out of the library did he realize something. _Da damn T'ief still has mah knife!_

**What will Vincent do now? Take her advice? Or ignore her like always?**

**Review!**

_**Très bien, petite belle **_**– "Very good, little beauty"**

_**Bonita – **_**"pretty one"**

_**la crécerelle**_** – "The falcon/kestrel"**

_**Ouvre les yeux**_** – "Open your eyes!"**

_**Parfaitement**_** – "perfectly"**

_**Ma croix**_** – "My cross"**

_**Où est-elle?**_** – "Where is it?"**

_**Du calme**_** – "Calm down"**

_**C'est faux, mon ami**_** – "That's wrong, my friend"**

_**Quelqu'un mort?**_** – "A dead one?"**

_**Exactement**_** – "Exactly"**

_**Mais je te promise**_** – "But I promise you"**

_**Ferme-la**_** – "Shut it" (harsher way to say shut up)**

_**Oui, je le suis**_** – "Yes, I am (that)"**

_**Merde, c'est trop tard de retourner pour me coucher. – "Shit, it's too late for me to go back to sleep."**_


	25. Chapter 25

**Last one... Phew!**

**Happy New Year to everyone and thanks for your support!**

Chapter 24

It wasn't often that Vincent took an enemy's advice, but he had to admit that, Thief girl or not – Noelle LeBeau had a point. So he waited and watched for an opportunity. He was also inclined to be a bit more generous towards his strange target seeing as he had returned to his room that night to find his uncle's knife sitting on his bed with the book she had recommended to him. Not only that, the smallest Thief had approached him that evening and thanked him for the brief moment of insanity that had led him to save her – which had rather bizarrely stroked his ego.

So he fell back into the routine and suffered through Wolverine's torturous training sessions – which had increased to insane levels that left him aching and the others on the ground unable to move. School was getting tougher and he found himself actually in the library toiling alongside the other students, complaining about tangent lines, essays, and thermochemistry.

September had passed in a blur and he found to his surprise that he had been at the Institute for almost a full two months. It was starting to show in the way he knew the best places to sit and read, the best places to hide from Wolverine when he was pissed off, best place to draw, which of the instructors wouldn't tell if he took one of the Institute's cars for a spin, the names of all of the students, how to turn on and off the Danger Room, and when the best time was to try and snag some alone time in the gym they had next to the Danger Room. He was learning and it was getting easier to get through the days.

It was a crisp, clear October morning when he walked down to get breakfast – as it was Tuesday he didn't have to worry about a Danger Room session until after school – to find the kitchen bedecked with purple and green streamers that screamed 'Happy Birthday!'.

Bridget was sitting at the kitchen table, looking very pale and uncharacteristically tense. Vincent didn't bother trying to flirt with her anymore – the girl was an iceberg, she didn't get angry or happy or do anything really interesting – but he still found her rather interesting to talk to. She often told him things that he never would have learned otherwise with the simple reason that he was 'meant to learn this at this time'.

"Y' alrahght, Bridgette?" he asked, coming into the kitchen and hurrying to grab a Pop-tart before the early morning crowd came stampeding in.

"I am alright, Vincent Boudreaux. My powers are going to take on an unforeseen evolution."

He paused in the act of stuffing his breakfast into the toaster. "Wha' kinda evolution?"

She wrapped graceful, ivory fingers around her coffee cup. "I do not know. Something very large and interesting."

"When?"

"March of next year."

"Wha- "

"I do not wish to speak of this, Vincent Boudreaux," she said sharply, turning her head away.

He shrugged. "_D'accord_. Can y' tell meh wha's wit' all da streamers an' shit?"

Bridget glanced at the bright colors for a moment. "It is Sarah Masters-Summers' fifteenth birthday and her parents and the other instructors wish to surprise her." She gave him a look, her usual half-amused-half-neutral expression coming back over her face again. "Wal-Mart in the entertainment section today after school – look for Noelle LeBeau and Sofya Rasputin."

And with those cryptic words, the Swiss girl stood up and swept from the room.

Okay then.

* * *

That day was a study of bad luck. He was paired with the Thief girl for a project to outline one of the battles of American Revolution – he wondered if Mr. Cox knew how much he didn't want to paired with this girl and was just doing it on purpose. There was a test in Math that he hadn't studied for. In English, Ms. Rosebury came down hard on him just because he didn't see the point of all of symbolism in _The Scarlet Letter_. The gym teacher spent all class ranting about the unfairness of the ref's calls from last Friday's football game – from what Vincent had heard, the school's team just happened to suck very hard. During lunch about thirty hulking idiots picked a fight with his table that culminated in the faculty intervening and trying to blame the whole thing on them. He ended up arriving late to his French class and Madame Rousseau was not the slightest bit sympathetic. Then there was Chemistry with Mr. Curry. Vincent's clumsy lab partner – a blonde with more breasts than brains, which was good everywhere but in Chemistry when they were trying to light a Bunsen burner – nearly set his shirt on fire four times.

Needless to say, staggering into Art was like arriving in heaven after trudging through hell and purgatory barefooted and naked.

"Rough day, Vincent?" Miss Fiennes asked sympathetically as he slumped over on his bench.

He groaned. "Lee' meh alone t' die…"

The teacher laughed easily as the bell rang. "No dying during Art class, Mr. Boudreaux!" She clapped her hands briskly and turned to the class at large. "Now! My superiors have reminded me that this is a school and I am required to try and make your lives as miserable as possible! So I have come up with a fairly horrific year-long project."

She held up a fake jack-o-lantern. "In here is a slip of paper for each of you! On each paper, you will find a random word that I got off the wonderful online Random Word Generator! Make sure you choose very carefully because you will be stuck with that word for the rest of the year!"

"Can we look at the paper?" asked one of the other students.

"Nope!" sang Miss Fiennes, offering the fake pumpkin to Vincent.

Sticking his hand into it, he swirled the slips of paper around a bit before settling on one and pulled it out. In a stylish scrawl read the word 'goddess'.

"'Goddess'?"

"OOOO! You got a good one!" his teacher sighed as another student received the word 'melody'.

Once all of the words were distributed, Miss Fiennes beamed at them and flapped her hands at them excitedly. "Go on! I want to see what you come up with!"

He ended up drawing his mother, Belladonna, as a queen goddess, which did not sit well with Miss Fiennes.

"This doesn't have nearly the same amount of soul that your previous drawings had. That little girl had more fire than this woman does… I would have to suggest finding another subject, Vincent."

He spent the last fifteen minutes of class staring from his drawing of his mother, her face cold and proud, to his last drawing of the little girl who had dragged him out of the canals of New Orleans all those years ago. He had drawn her as she tore a chunk of bread, her pale eyes bright and kind. Miss Fiennes was right, the little girl was far more alive than his mother.

Hm.

The end of the day bell rang and everyone scrambled for the door, Miss Fiennes calling behind them that she wanted a rough sketch of their next project. His first project was tucked under his arm as he tottered under the weight of all his usual school crap.

He lamented his failure to get that damn locker open for the umpteenth time as he made his way to Alexei's truck. Luckily, James and Vassily hurried over and helped him with the two bulging bags and the fair-sized bit of canvas he was juggling.

"What's this, mate?" James asked, nodding at the wrapped canvas.

"Jus' somet'in' I whipped together in Art," Vincent said offhandedly, tossing his backpack into the bed of the truck.

James started unwrapping the painting.

"_Pas ici_!" Vincent hissed, snatching it back.

"No fighting, children," Vassily smirked, tossing Vincent's messenger bag into the back of the truck as well. "We have things to do."

It seemed that everyone in Alexei's truck was on their way to Wal-Mart to buy Sarah a birthday present. This meant, of course, that Vincent was stuck being crammed into the truck as they sped to the store for a present that he had no desire to get for a girl he barely spoke to.

At least Wal-Mart was empty. Or to be more specific, most of the customers rushed to the cash registers or hid when the Institute students walked in.

"Don't worry," Julia said brightly. "This happens all the time."

Vincent snorted and wandered off to find the Entertainment section, remembering Bridget's advice from this morning. Hey! The new CD of Ugly Humor Sheer was out! Wandering the shelves, he began making a mental list of all the songs he was going to get off of ITunes.

"Is this really a good idea, Noelle?"

"Prob'ly not, but y' old skirts're hangin' off y' lahke y' a goddamn scarecrow. An' da Prof's footin' da bill so y' should get what y' please."

"But is all of this really necessary?"

"Sug, y' pants'd be fallin' 'thout dat belt. Y' don' wan' keep goin' out wit' _mon frère_ dressed lahke dat, do ya? 'Sides, dat's why I took a car 'stead o' _ma moto_."

"I suppose…"

Well hell, if it wasn't the Thief girl and her brother's Russian girlfriend.

Sofya was clutching a wide array of new clothes to her chest, while the Thief strode easily along beside her. The Thief caught sight of him and smiled brightly.

"_Dis!_ Vincent!"

This annoyed him as usual. He had been doing his level best to avoid the Thieves ever since the botched assassination attempt. He had done pretty damn well and thus the whole History project had hit him rather hard.

"_Quoi?_" he demanded rudely.

"Need a favor!" she said briskly. "Sofya here's still too skinny ta fit inta her clothes so da Prof's forked ovah his credit card fo' new clothes."

"I ain' carryin' y' bags," he said flatly.

"Ain' askin' y' to," she retorted easily. "Ah'm askin' y' ta be a guy an' give y' opinion."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "'Pinion 'bout what?"

"Sofy's clothes, _bien sur_!"

"I ain' gon' act da part o' y' gay friend!"

The Thief rolled her eyes. "We need a guy wit' urges fo' girls – y' ain' gay, rahght?"

He said something in French that would have made even his mother shriek in horror. His rival merely laughed lightly and gave him a dangerous grin.

"Say day in front o' da younger kids an' Ah will be forced ta rip y' tongue out. I take dat as a 'no'. We need a straight guy so he can tell us how hot Sofy looks in her clothes. C'n y' do dat?"

"Wha's in it fo' _moi_?"

"We let y' put y' name on our present fo' Sarah. Y' need da brownie points."

* * *

Noelle dropped her messenger bag in a corner of her room as she moved quickly to tug off her boots and go back downstairs. There was a 'Death by Chocolate' cake to make. Sarah had asked her to make it specifically for her birthday and the young woman had no intention of disappointing her friend.

The kitchen was occupied as Miss Tessa – aka Sage – cooked ground beef in a pot big enough to bathe one of her kids in and Ms. Laura cut lettuce and tomato with eye blurring speed. Tonight was Sarah's favorite: tacos.

Pulling her hair back into a loose bun, she washed her hands and started greasing the pans. Then there was the measuring of the flour and butter…

Noelle LeBeau did not do the Betty Crocker shit – the crap that came out of boxes wasn't worthy to fertilize her Spanish ivy upstairs. She had been raised to make her own food – from scratch – and that included taking the time to bake birthday cakes and make the frosting by hand.

She was adding the eggs when the Poisoner of the Institute entered the kitchen with an eager expression.

The Cajun tensed as Julia Alvers approached. "Did y' need somet'in', petite?"

"What can I do?" she chirped. "I want to help!"

"You can finish decorating the dining room," Tessa said flatly.

Julia pouted. "That's almost done! I want to help with the cake!"

Noelle tossed an eggshell into the trash can before turning around to face her friend. "Sugah, le'me be honest wit' y. Y' a menace in da kitchen. Las' tahme y' cooked y' set da oven on fire, blew da microwave up, and made all o' us sick wit' dat… wha' was it?"

If Julia's lower lip stuck out any further it was going to fall to the ground. "It was lasagna!"

"It nearly put Allison in da hospital an' we had ta get Dawn's appendix out afteh dat."

"That was not because of my food!" screeched the other girl.

"It was a major contributing factor," Laura said wryly from where she was now grating mounds of cheese.

"Alexei eats my cooking!"

Laura, Tessa, and Noelle all gaped at her.

"Dat boy deserves a metal!" Noelle gasped.

"Oh yes!" chorused the older women.

"Forget this!" screeched Julia, spinning on her heel and stomping out of the kitchen.

The three remaining women sighed in relief.

"Da food is safe!"

* * *

Vincent had never in his life seen a bigger cake than the one sitting in the middle of the table – not even when his second cousin Jeanette had insisted that her wedding cake be a scale sized edible model of the Versailles palace. It seemed to be a chocolate mountain, with elegant iced words spelling out: "Happy Birthday, Sarah!"

"Don't even think about touching that cake until after Sarah's opened all of her presents!" Miss Jubilee ordered as she and the other older women instructors stuck multicolored candles around the edge of the cake.

And so the Assassin and his companions had to suffer through the long minutes of watching the birthday girl unwrap CDs, sweaters, books, knickknacks, paper cards…

Finally, the tall silver bag that contained the gift that Vincent had put his name on after an hour of looking at slick outfits was presented to her by the Thief girl. "Gently, _chère_. Don' wan' break it."

Sarah plunged her hands into the mess of silvery tissue paper and her eyes widened. She looked from the Thief, to Sofya, then to him. "You _didn't!_"

The Thief grinned. "Pull it out, sugah."

Vincent leaned forward a bit. What could it possibly be? There hadn't been time to look at it before dinner.

Very carefully, the girl pulled out the tiniest tree he had ever seen. It looked a bit like a bush with dark oily green leaves and large white flowers.

"Da' gardenia bonsai tree y' wan'ed," the Thief girl laughed lightly. "D'y' lahke it?"

"It did take an awfully long time to find it," Sofya said with impressive fake solemnity.

Realizing he should probably say something, Vincent managed to come up with, "Hope dis goes wit' y' flowers…"

Sarah didn't say anything, just lowered her face down to breathe in the scent of her plant.

"_De rien_," the Thief said with a smile.

It took several excruciating minutes to get the breathless girl to put down the bush so they could sing her happy birthday and cut the cake. By the time they passed the slices around the table, Vincent was drooling. It was truly the most magnificent cake he had ever seen – in that it was huge and chocolate. Call him a girl or whatever, but he loved chocolate anything.

His slice was particularly delicious looking and he wasted no time in shoving a laden forkful into his mouth. He closed his eyes as the warmth of fudgy goodness burst in his mouth; to hell with it being girly – this was the best damn thing he had ever tasted!

He swallowed and shook his head. "_C'est le mieux que j'ai jamais mangé! __Merci, Madame Laura!_"

Laura blinked at him. "I didn't make this."

"Den I t'ank y' Miss Ororo, _c'est délicieuse_!"

The woman smiled. "I did not make this, Noelle did."

Vincent went absolutely still. His fork, loaded with another chunk of cake, hovered inches from his mouth as his head slowly turned to look at the Thief girl. She was sitting, her elbows on either side of her plate, a triumphant smirk on her face.

Had she planned this?

"Y' lahke it? Ah'd say i's one o' mah best cakes."

He shifted unhappily. He had _swallowed_ this! Had declared it the best thing he had ever eaten in front of everyone. "No' bad," he muttered at last. "_Je n'ai la grèbe_."

She smiled and laughed lightly. "Kind o' y' t' say, Vincent. T'ank y'!"

"Yes," Charles Summers said formally from the other end of the table. "I must commend you, Noelle, you've finally managed to concoct something that doesn't make everyone's tastebuds bleed."

The table went silent and the Thief girl's smile faltered for a moment. "T'ank y' fo' sayin', Golden Boy. Now if y' could actually grow some balls, Ah'd be able ta compliment y' too."

There was snickering all around the table and Vincent couldn't help but smirk – further down the table the male Thief was outright laughing. He spent the next few minutes staring at the cake in front of him. He didn't _have_ to eat it – he _shouldn't_ eat it – but this made the brownies two months ago look like cheap, day old pastries. His mother would be furious if she knew he was actually considering eating this…

He shook himself – what was the big damn deal about not eating or touching anything the Thieves made or touched? Shouldn't he be taking advantage of their gestures of goodwill? It wasn't like they offered him poison; judging by the gusto with which everyone ate anything they cooked, the three certainly didn't lack culinary skills the way he did.

What the hell… it wasn't like his mother wouldn't have stuffed her face with the cake if she didn't know where it had come from. He stuck the piece into his mouth and chewed defiantly.

The Thief girl shot him an amused look before she turned to speak in rapid French with Bridget.

_Elle est chanceuse son gâteau est tellement bon_, he thought sourly to himself.

* * *

Noelle was sitting in the empty Right Circle – the nickname of the Rotunda on the right side of the house – scribbling away in her journal. She didn't look up as a shadow fell over her. "_Bonjour_ Vincent."

"Y' coulda told _moi _dat y' made da cake."

She spared him the briefest glance – she wanted to finish this entry before midnight – "Would y've eaten it?"

He scowled. "I still got mah mission."

Did he think of anything besides that damn mission? "_Je la sais!_ _Mon dieu, mon gar_, don' y' ever t'ink o' anyt'in' but y' mission? Ah jus' wan' know if y' lahked mah cake o' not."

He was taken aback for a moment. "_Eh bien_, it wasn' dat bad. Tasted better… tasted worse."

A smirk spread across her face – she could feel his emotions writhing beneath that mostly calm mask. Annoyance, reluctance, anger and confusion… a lot of confusion. In face of that, she knew what those words meant: "It was delicious."

"_Merci._ So, y' gon' trah an' kill meh now?" Noelle closed her journal, placed it to one side, and leaned back on her bench, looking up at him.

The confusion and annoyance mounted. "Y'd fahght back."

"_Oui_." What? Did he think she was suicidal?

Vincent smirked lightly. "Too much work an' noise. I try again in a coupla months."

"Got a date picked out?"

"Why'd I tell y'?"

She couldn't help it – she burst out laughing. "Glad y' finalleh learned da rules o' da game, Vincent. See y' _a demain_."

He shoved his hands into his pockets and trudged away.

Noelle watched him walk away and sighed. It was really too bad she had sworn to herself to never influence someone to like her – it wasn't like it would've been hard, a little push here and there and she could have him eating out her hand before he knew what was happening. But no, she was just going to have to rely on good old feminine wiles to get what she wanted.

Good thing natural charm ran in the family.

She reopened her journal and started on a new topic: The coming insanities of next year.

**Now what? **

**PS - anybody got any ideas on how Vincent should figure out about Deadpool or vice versa?**

**Review!!**

_**Pas ici**_** – "Not here**_**"**_

_**ma moto –**_** "My motorcycle"**

_**Dis! – **_**"Hey!"**

_**Quoi?**_** – "What?"**

_**bien sur**_** – "of course"**

_**De rien**_** – "You're welcome"**

_**C'est le mieux que j'ai jamais mangé! **_**– ****"This is the best (thing) I've ever eaten!"**

_**c'est délicieuse – **_**"it's delicious"**

_**Je n'ai la grèbe**_**.**_** – **_**"I didn't puke"**

_**Elle est chanceuse son gâteau est tellement bon – **_**"She's lucky her cake is so good"**

_**Je la sais!**_** - ****"I know that!"**

_**a demain – **_**"tomorrow"**


	26. Chapter 26

**Ta Da! Next chapter!**

**Review and be happy!**

Chapter 25

Noelle sighed deeply as she fell into an empty seat in the entertainment room. "Wha' we watchin'?"

From the loveseat, Alana called, "James Bond!"

"Da crappy ones o' da good ones?"

"Sean Connery!"

"Da good ones, den."

"Where y' been?" Lucien asked from where he was sitting with Sofya.

"_Mes petites_'re still high off all dat sugah from dere Halloween candy. Took foh'eveh ta get 'em ta sleep."

"Halloween was a week ago," Vassily pointed out from where he was sprawled on the floor.

"How much candy did they get?" Monica asked.

"Too much."

"More for us!" James crowed, holding up a bowl filled with Halloween candy. "Who wants some?!"

"I take some," Vincent called holding out a hand.

Grinning, Noelle turned back to the movie; she was very pleased with Vincent. He seemed to have actually taken her advice to heart. His fencing was increasing at an alarming rate and he had cut down the number of times she 'touched' him to only twice, though he had yet to 'touch' her. It was getting harder to keep her edge against him, but the fun and thrill of fighting someone of or close to her skill level was enough to keep her coming back.

It was especially fun to watch and feel his emotions. The spikes of lust directed at her, then the tidal wave of rage and confusion directed at himself, the bright surges of pride when Logan gave him backhanded compliments about his swordsmanship or hand to hand combat skills, the bafflement whenever she teased him, the frustration when she let her necklace shine in a ray of light…

She tossed her bangs out of her eyes and forced herself to focus on James Bond and his interesting seduction techniques.

* * *

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?"_ the girl asked, staring at the golden chain dangling from his hand._

"_S' _ma croix_," he said gruffly, cheeks turning red as he averted his eyes. "Y' have it."_

_She shook her head so hard her ponytail flew from side to side. "Da's yo's. Don' wan' it."_

_A sense of urgency took him and he grabbed her hand. Turning it over, he pressed the crucifix firmly into her hand. "Was _mon grand-père_'s. S'pposed ta be lucky." He met her grey-green eyes seriously. "Y' los' yo's 'cause y' helped me. So y' take it. As payment, fo' helpin' me."_

_Her bright eyes got brighter and a little crease appeared between her eyebrows. "Don' wan' payment. Did wha' was rahght! Don' wan' ta be paid fo' doin' rahght!" She tried to wrench her hand away but he kept a firm grip on her. _

"_Take it, _s'il vous plait_. Jus' 'til y' c'n find yo's. Den y' c'n return it."_

_She started chewing her lip. "How Ah fahnd y'?"_

_He patted her arm awkwardly. "I find you. I go ta _Saint Louis Cathédral_ on Halloween, _d'accord_? You come an' den y' it give back ta _moi_." _

_She nodded fiercely. "_D'accord_, Ah come an' give it back ta y'!"_

_It took a light squeeze to her fingers to get her attention again. "Don' try an' give it back if y' cain't fahnd yo's. Jus' come an' say hi, kay? I wan' y' ta have it. Bring y' luck."_

_Never in his life had he been given a more piercing look – it felt like she was looking through his clothes and skin, through everything that separated the REAL Vincent from her – and finally she nodded and beamed at him. She curled her fingers around the necklace and lowered it over her head. _

_It was too big, but she wore it proudly._

_And then she hugged him tightly and he could smell the thick scent of roses, magnolias, fresh bread and the dark bayou imbedded in her skin, hair, and clothes. _

"A bientôt, mon ami_…"_

* * *

Vincent opened his eyes to see a slice of pale moonlight across his chest as he lay in his bed. The room was mostly silent but for the loud snores coming from the heap of blankets that was James. Beyond the surroundings he could immediately see the image of the girl standing on her porch, waving at him as his cross glittered gold on her chest.

He sat up in bed and rested his head on his knees. On Halloween, he had gone to Saint Louis's and found a full out gunfight raging between his older cousins and the Thieves; there had been bodies on the ground, some of them too small to be grownup bodies. He remembered trying to go look at them, see if he could see a flash of auburn hair and a golden chain too big for a slender neck…

There had only been the bodies and one of his older cousins had ended up dragging him away from the dead, even as he screamed that he had to find her.

He had never seen that little girl again. And it wasn't like he had thought to get her name before he had left, or even tell her _his _name, so he could find out what happened to her. The only proof he had that he had met her at all were the boots she had given him. The boots that had been too small for her brother. The ones tucked under his bed back in New Orleans in a shoe box like treasured possessions.

A deep, shuddering sigh escaped him. His mother had been very interested in that girl, teasing him and asking if he had thought she was pretty, and then stroking his back that night, telling him it would be alright. That he could avenge her death when he was older.

But Vincent hadn't wanted to hear that. He had wanted to hear his mother say that the little girl was probably just fine. That she had probably turned around and was still safe at home. That she was okay. That she was sitting at her house, his cross around her neck, eating her aunt's soft bread.

He had tried to find his way back to her house, of course, but it had been no use. He had gotten well and truly lost in the maze of the French Quarter.

All at once, the young man swung the blanket off of himself and groped under his bed for the canvas on which he had painted in Art class. It was still carefully shrouded in the white cloth to protect the paint and he lifted it out as gently as possible. Unwrapping it from its white protection, Vincent was soon looking into the painted eyes of a young girl of about five years old, her eyes glittering as she sat on the porch steps of an old, but sturdy and comfortable looking home. Rose bushes were gathered right around the porch and the seed pods of a magnolia tree were scattered around her booted feet. His crucifix was around her neck.

He loved the way it had turned out, though he hadn't used color because he couldn't remember if the girl's eyes were grey or green and since her eyes had been the best and most beautiful thing about her, he was in no hurry to merely settle for something he might _think_ was good enough. Instead he had used a grayish-brown shade for the entire painting like a sepia photograph and still the shine of her eyes gleamed through the dull paint and the lightness of her happy smile made his heart lift even as it ached in his chest.

It was his best work, but he needed another masterpiece. No, scratch that, he _wanted_ another masterpiece.

His thoughts went to sculpture he had found of the Greek goddess Athena on Wikipedia, the way she had stared thoughtfully off into the distance, her wargear tucked away and her owl symbol perched on her shoulder. She hadn't looked so much like a goddess of war as she did a goddess of wisdom.

The way she had been beautiful, wise, and strangely weary even when there were no lines on her face reminded him very clearly of someone.

* * *

Vincent sat in an obtrusive corner of the library, with his sketchbook propped up on his bent knee, as he studied and sketched the fine, strong lines of Sofya Rasputin's elegant, face and the shadows lurking in her great velvety dark blue eyes. It wasn't that hard since she had spent the last hour or so talking with her steady boyfriend, the Thief boy.

"What are you doing, mate?" James asked, peering over his shoulder. "Is that Sofy?"

"_Ouais_, 's fo' ma Art class."

"Why don't you just ask if she'll pose for you instead of hiding out like ninja?"

"'Cause den I be dealin' wit' T'ief-boy oveh dere glarin' at _moi_ while I be tryin' ta get her face down."

The carrot top eyed the drawing critically. "It looks pretty good, Vince."

"_Merci, mon ami_. But it ain' finished yet. I ain' drawin' Sofy, I onleh usin' her as a model fo' mah nex' drawin'."

"And what is your next drawing going to be of?"

"I's gon' be o' Athena."

James blinked several times. "Isn't that the Greek goddess of war? How are you seeing anything warlike in Sofy?"

Vincent shrugged wryly. "Y' seen her in da Danger Room lately? She get any betteh an' we gon' have a secon' Talon on our hands."

"Well that's a scary thought."

"No kiddin'."

"What's your Art project about anyway?"

Vincent finished his drawing, flipped to a new page and began again, this time concentrating on the play of light on his subject's blue eyes. "Mah subject fo' da rest o' da year is 'goddess'."

"Goddesses? Why haven't you asked Storm to be your model? Everyone knows that Storm used to be considered a goddess in Africa."

That stopped his sketching pencil. "Really?"

"Really. Monica told me."

Vincent smirked. "Y' an' Mam'selle Monica been gettin' pretty close lately."

His roommate went bright red; something that did not agree with his bright orange hair at all. "I beg your pardon! We are friends and nothing more!"

"Fo' now."

"What was that?"

"Nothin' fo' now. Wha'd'y' t'ink o' dis one?"

* * *

Noelle made her way through the library shelves, looking through the books for the Anne Rice section. She had a craving for depressing, slightly disturbing and erotic vampire novels and she was in no way interested in the Twilight books Julia, Monica, and Kelsey had been swooning over for the past couple of years.

AHA!

She zeroed in on the graceful, Victorian style words spelling out _Interview with a Vampire_ as a loud curse split the relative early morning silence of the library. Blinking, she rose herself over the shelves and looked out to see Vincent scrambling to pick up a dropped piece of canvas.

A lightness spread from her stomach throughout her body as she took flight and swooped over to him. "Wha's dat, _mon ami_?"

The blond Assassin jumped and spun around to face her, dropping his canvas again and whipping out his knife.

Ignoring this, Noelle bent down and stretched out her hand to the facedown picture. "_Du calme_, 'Ssassin-boy. Jus' came ta see what all da noise was."

"Don' touch dat!"

She sighed, picked up the painting and offered it to him, without looking at it. "Alrahght, alrahght, don' get all pissy on meh."

He snatched it back as though she might damage or contaminate it with her very touch. With another deep, long suffering sigh, she allowed him to take it from her and tossed her head. Her crucifix jumped a bit and caught the light like a golden star.

His blue eyes snapped to the glint and she could feel his frustration and confusion rear up like an angry snake. He opened his mouth as if to ask something, still looking at the necklace, but then shut it firmly and began tucking the canvas away into a large black messenger bag.

Noelle rolled her eyes at this and walked to a table set right beside a chair shoved against a window facing the rising sun. The light was perfect for drawing and she could see what looked like a sketch pad under the table. Bending, she took it and couldn't stop the delighted smile from spreading across her face.

It was Sofya.

He had drawn Sofya with perfect accuracy; the pretty, noble lines of her face, her rich black curls, and the wary shadows in her kind, intelligent eyes. "_Elle est très belle, mon ami._"

"Wha'd y' sa-" Vincent froze when he saw her holding his sketch.

"Ah lahke it."

"Give – dat – back," he hissed dangerously.

That did it.

Treating him to what her mother called their father's 'shit-eating face' she sat down in the chair and eyed his drawing with all the expertise of a veteran art critic/thief. "Not too bad, Ah s'ppose. Don' t'ink y captured her essence, t'ough. Mahght want ta watch how y' do yo' eyes. Y' makin' poor Sofy look _un petite_ evil."

She paused, her lazy smirk still in place, to survey the effects of her words – well, now, that was funny as hell.

Monsieur Vincent had gone red, his lips tight and he was clenching his fists so hard it looked like he was trying to make the knuckle bones pop out of his skin.

Very funny, indeed.

"Give dat back."

He was about to add something else, undoubtedly nothing pleasant, but she cut him off easily. "But Ah must admit dat Ah am rather disappointed in y', Vincent. Y' ain' gon' draw me?" She gave him what she knew was her most infuriating grin, and cocked her head.

The Assassin's empathic readings went crazy; Noelle merely smiled, leaned back, and watched the show. Anger burst through him, wild and unchecked, tempered with desperate attempts at patience and apathy, jolts of frustration and confusion as the sunlight sparkled on the cross around her neck.

"I only drawin' goddesses, T'ief," he gritted out. "But I come ta y' if ever I need ta draw a freak."

The weak insult made her laugh and she turned back to his sketches. "Da whole reason we're in dis buildin' is 'cause we freaks. Some o' us carry it mo' gracefully den o'ters. But we all mutants – so we all freaks."

She paused on a particularly beautiful drawing, Sofya turning to look at something just to right of the artist, looking relaxed and thoughtful. The Russian girl was stretched out on a bench in one of the rotundas, her body loose, yet poised for something.

Looking up, she was face to face with the furious young man. Smiling sweetly at him, she flipped tantalizingly through the pages.

And stopped.

Was that-?

The book was abruptly ripped from her hands as Vincent snarled out, "Tol' y' ta give it back ta moi, _chienne_."

"Cain't say Ah wan'ed ta give it up, jus' den, _batard_," she returned sweetly.

Twisting his face into what looked like a very painful smile, her opponent said, "_Quoi?_ Did I forget t' say please?"

She put on an affronted look. "Oui, an' t'ank y'. Didn' _ta mère_ teach ya mannehs?"

"Didn' yo's tell y' i's wrong t' steal?"

"_Oui_, she did. _Mais, mon père_ neveh had a problem wit' it. See?" She held up his sketchbook, which she had slipped away from him not two seconds ago.

The red in his cheeks drained to be replaced with a cold sort of paleness, his eyes glinted not unlike her father's when he was starting to get pissed off, and his chin slowly rose up.

She didn't need to be an empath to see he was about to hit her.

Resisting the urge to sigh again, she stretched her hand out to him, unthreatening but for the soothing power surging from her fingertips. It didn't take much skill to push back his anger and allow his confusion, embarrassment, and apathy to come to the forefront. The effect was instantaneous.

Vincent immediately straightened up and looked rather lost, though his eyes never left hers.

Smiling a bit at his confused puppy expression, she stood up, flipped through the pages of his sketchpad, stopping at the drawing of Sofya, and gently pressed the book into his hands. "Use dat one, _d'accord, mon ami_? I's y' bes' one."

She left him there, stopping only to get the books she had originally been looking for before going back to her room. Men were about as easy to play as pianos.

**Comments anyone? Any ideas of how Vincent should react when he realizes who Noelle really is?**

_**Qu'est-ce que c'est? **_**– "What is it?"**

_**ma croix **_**– "my cross"**

_**Du calme**_** – "Calm down"**

_**Elle est très belle, mon ami.**_** – "She is very beautiful, my friend."**


	27. Chapter 27

**YAY the cold snap is over!!**

**Thank God!**

Chapter 26

Vincent stared in horror out the window.

Snow. Piles of it heaped everywhere, obscuring the patio chairs, making the trees and everything else look hulking in the darkness before dawn. And big pale flakes were still falling, building up the already huge drifts across the lawn. "_Mon dieu._"

"What's up, mate?" James asked, leaving off pulling on his uniform and coming over to see outside. "You're still not freaked out by all the frost – bloody hell!"

"Wha' is all dat?"

His roommate gave him a strange look, "It's snow. Don't you have snow in New Orleans?"

"No! We Cajuns smart enough ta get away from all dat crap." He winced. "We gon' have ta go ta school in dis?"

That was a quick knock at the door connecting their room with Alexei and the Thief's and Alexei stuck his head in, "The Professor has just announced that there is to be a snow day. No school."

The Thief's voice sounded as well. "An' Wolverine's jus' announced dat dere's still mornin' trainin'. Outsahde."

A surge of horror shot through him through the heart. "In dis weather? _Il a une araignée au plafond_!"

"_Je sais_, but unless y' wan' tell him dat, y'all better get y' asses movin'."

So they had no choice but to suit up and assemble in the front hall. It was still dark outside and everyone looked bleary eyed, exhausted and more than one of them were clutching themselves and shivering. Seeing this, Vincent felt quite comfortable in tucking his hands into his armpits, hunching, and shivering fiercely.

"Alright!" Wolverine barked. "Just because school's cancelled and there's snow everywhere, that doesn't mean that I'll be takin' it easy on you."

Bobby Drake, one of the other teachers, was standing beside Wolverine with a huge, sadistic grin on his face. "Today you guys are going through an obstacle course constructed by yours truly and with some goodies from Forge."

A loud groan rose from the assembled teens but a sharp growl from their instructor silenced them. "You think all of your missions are gonna be in seventy degree weather? There are places in the world that can freeze you straight through in less than five minutes – if you're gonna be X-Men, you're gonna learn to work in this weather. So now, you're gonna be split into pairs and the goal of the session is just to get through the course working together and watching each other's back."

Somehow, Vincent wasn't surprised when he was paired with the Thief girl, who had on her usual, slick uniform with an army green bomber jacket over it.

She gave a wry smile. "Ain' used ta snow, are y'?"

"No. Wha' kinda idiot'd live in dis hellhole?" he grumbled.

A light laugh. "You."

He scowled.

* * *

The obstacle course was a literal labyrinth of ice and metal, the walls more than twenty feet tall and there were blocks of ice set in the floor, to hinder progress.

They were the fourth pair to enter the frozen maze and honestly, Vincent felt he would rather have taken on two search and rescue missions and six Sentinels than try his luck in this ice palace. But he had no choice and soon he and the Thief girl were hurrying through the passageways, Kestrel flying and Sniper running, slipping, and sliding.

"Y' sure y' don' wan' a lift?" his companion asked, gliding along effortlessly beside him.

"I sure," he snapped tersely even as he skidded on a particularly slippery patch.

With a thoroughly uncomfortable thump, he fell hard onto his tailbone. In the split second it took him to get his bearings, the young man was suddenly pushed to the ice by something soft, sweet and feminine. Kestrel had dropped on top of him and it wasn't hard to see why. Huge, red lasers were sweeping across their path, just over their heads.

"_Désole_," she said briskly. "But Ah'd rahther not ruin mah uniform."

"Uh-huh." Damn male hormones, they were focusing entirely on the sweet smell of her hair and the soft curves against his body. _Deep breaths_, he reminded himself. _She a T'ief, dat means hands off._

Kestrel did not seem to be having any sort of internal crisis; on the contrary, she was staring hard at the path that was now blocked to them. "Sniper, c'n y' hit da bases o' da lasers?"

Given something to take his mind off their uncomfortable position, he tilted his head all the way back to catch sight of where the lasers were coming from. His eyes focused easily on the sources. "Got 'em."

She pressed closer to him and muttered a word in French that made him smirk. "C'n y' t'row more dan one knife at a time an' still use y' powers?"

"Why?"

"Dose lasers're gettin' closer."

He took a look – they were boxed in and the lasers were moving in slowly but surely. "Ain' sure. Nevah had t' try befo'."

"Now would be a great tahme ta trah."

His hands went to his pocket with some difficulty considering he had an almost full grown young woman lying chest to chest with him, and he pulled out a handful of razor sharp throwing disks. For a moment, his hand stilled and the young Assassin considered the possibility of sinking one of these into Kestrel's neck.

"Ready?" she asked close to his ear, seemingly oblivious to his thoughts.

He could do it right now – one stab into her throat and it would be all over. Then his mind showed him a mental image of Wolverine and the Thief boy starting towards him, eyes beyond murderous.

_No' yet_, he decided. _No' quite_.

"Yeah," he said aloud, spread the disks out like a poker player fanning out his cards.

Focusing, Sniper felt the molecules bouncing around briskly in the disks – though it gave him an almost instantaneous headache to try and keep track of six disks at once – and then stretched his concentration to the lasers. He could feel the attraction that all molecules had between each other… he could feel it all…

Now or never.

"Now!" he hissed to Kestrel, discharging his weapons with a soft, but deadly whir.

The disks flew away from him like birds released from a cage, cutting through the lasers and hitting the targets. There were small explosions and sparks as his projectiles hit each of their marks perfectly. Before he had time to really gloat about his feat of prowess, his partner had wrapped her arms around his chest and heaved him off the ground and shot into the smoke and chaos that was flooding through the icy corridors.

Sniper winced at the stinging smoke and the little bits of debris pelting his face like sharp raindrops. Kestrel had him in a deathgrip as she flew them straight through the dizzying passages.

He was taken aback at the way she elegantly arched and flexed her body in flight – the one time he had flown with her the night they had rescued Sofy and the other children it had been a simple flight to get to an entrance – this was evasive action in midair. Sniper could do nothing as they zipped past nets, huge chunks of metal tossed from holes in the wall; this was Kestrel's show and she was proving herself to be more than capable of handling herself in the air.

Stealing a quick look at her face, he was taken aback by the wild mixture of rapture and concentration he saw in her grey-green eyes, the fierce smile on her face…

_Dere's a reason, dey call meh Kestrel_, she had said once.

They reached the end of the maze in record time and it was only after she had put him back on his feet did he realize his limbs and most of his extremities were numb.

"How was dat?" Kestrel asked Wolverine, who was standing at the exit.

He huffed. "Some fancy flying, Mouse, but you shoulda let Knife-boy get through on his own power."

She rolled her eyes and hugged herself. "Not all o' us were born in Canada, Wolvie. Ah ain' about ta freeze mah ass off when we c'n get it done in half da tahme."

The man scowled darkly but nodded at her. Then he turned his dark eyes on Sniper. "That was a hell of a throw, Knife."

That was extravagant praise coming from Logan and Vincent gave him his most aggravating smile. "_Merci._ But did y' really expec' anyt'in' less?"

And the Assassin couldn't help but laugh at the dark look on Logan's face.

* * *

In less than half an hour, Vincent was curled up under a mountain of blankets in his bed, drowsing lightly. Images of training with his cousins and then with his mother ran across his half opened eyes, then fighting Thieves in the back alleys of the City. Then the scenes changed to a green house in the French Quarter with rose bushes growing wild and unpruned around a porch, an ancient magnolia tree making a graceful curve in the yard and a pretty little girl with a messy ponytail, huge eyes, and his cross around her neck.

His heart lifted for a moment, then sank down in an aching swoop as the memory of a gunfight raging in front of Saint Louis' his family using the trees as cover as they tried to fight off the Thieves hiding in the church. He remembered motionless bodies sprawled across the steps of the old church…

_Vincent was frozen in horror. Those were bodies._

_Dead bodies!_

_Most children would have tried to convince themselves that the worst case scenario was impossible, but Vincent Boudreaux had grown up in a warzone and he knew better than to try and delude himself. His friend might be dead. _

_He had to find her._

_And so he darted out into the no-man's land of the church's front lawn where the bullets were whizzing overhead, his only hope that the Thieves would not recognize him – and that they would not be callous enough to purposefully shoot an innocent kid, not that he was really innocent… But he ran to the first smallish body and rolled it over._

_Not her._

_The next._

_Not her._

_The next…_

_It was as he was heaving at his thirteenth body that a hand grabbed his shoulder. It was cousin Laurence and he didn't look happy._

"_I gotta find 'er."_

_Laurence was yelling something but Vincent wasn't in the mood to listen. Didn't he understand?_

_What if one of the Thieves had gotten to her? Had hurt her?_

_He saw in his mind's eye the girl on the ground, a puddle of blood underneath her and her pretty eyes cloudy and lifeless. Horror filled his insides and he smashed his fist hard into his cousin's elbow. _

_The older boy yowled and immediately released him. Vincent wasted no time in darting off like a rabbit._

_Not her._

_Not her._

_Not her._

_Where was she?_

_Where was she?_

_Where-_

_Arms came around his torso and dragged him away from the bodies. "She s'pposed ta be here!"_

_It was important to make his cousin understand the severity of the situation. To make him understand that his friend could be lying dead somewhere in all this chaos._

_Laurence looked tired but serious. "Vincent, don' know who y' lookin' foh', but she ain' aroun' here, an' if she is den she won' be in any shape fo' answerin' y'. T'ose T'ieves'll strip all da bodies for valuables. Yo' friend is gone. Ain' nothin' we c'n do fo' 'er now."_

_Vincent struggled. He couldn't let them hurt her just for the bit of gold around her neck! He had to find her!_

_It was his fault she was here at all! He had told her to come – he should have known those damn Thieves would do something on a night like Halloween!_

_There was a sudden bang and Laurence threw him to the ground and covered his body with his own. "_Désole, _Vincent, but yo' friend's dead_."

Vincent woke abruptly. He lay for a long moment, turning it all over in his mind.

What had happened to the girl? Why couldn't he have at least asked her name? Paid more attention to where her house was? Why couldn't he remember what she had looked like?

As always, his thoughts diverted to a darker path. What if she had been shot? Had she died immediately? His stomach clenched painfully at the thought of the bright young girl lying gasping in the dirt, trying to breathe with a punctured lung or with an artery or major organ injured. Had the Thieves disturbed her body to get to the damn cross?

He had spent years and years looking for a Thief with his crucifix. If he ever found someone wearing that necklace, he was going to kill them.

As it was, he had worked so hard in his training not just to please his mother and avenge his father and uncle, but also avenge the girl.

The Thieves would pay for what they had done to her!

With that satisfying thought, Vincent turned over and drew his blankets over his head and went back to sleep.

* * *

Noelle hummed tunefully to herself as she herded her kids back inside after a long afternoon of epic snow ball fights, sledding and snowman building. "C'mon, _mes petites_. Tahme ta clean up an' get ready fo' dinner."

"Why did they cancel school today?" Brianna asked, tugging at the beads in her braids.

Reaching out, the Cajun girl swatted the child's hands away from the drooping plaits and retied them carefully. "'Cause _petite_, da schools didn' wan' da buses drivin' on da roads – 's dangerous, _non_? An i's da Friday right befo' T'anksgivin' break so dey don' care so much. What, y' don' lahke gettin' a day offa school?"

Brianna giggled. "I like it."

Chuckling, Noelle gently tweaked a braid. "Y' need a bath, _chère_, so Ah c'n fix y' braids. Dey comin' out again."

It took almost an hour and half to get the kids washed, dried, dressed, and ready for dinner, even with the extra hands of Sofya, Sarah, and Monica helping. When they finally all sat down to get something to eat – today it was bean, potato, and bacon stew, with a non-pork version for Julia and her brother and sister – the Professor cleared his throat for silence.

"Everyone, I am afraid that I have some distressing news. There is a northeaster coming towards us and the weather experts are predicting that it will be far worse than what we saw today. I have asked Bridget and she has informed me that the storm will last approximately four days and the airports will all be closed."

"What about Thanksgiving?" Julia piped up. "Can't we go home?"

Xavier sighed and folded his hands neatly on the table. There was now complete silence; everyone had given him their undivided attention.

"I'm afraid that with Storm away in Africa we have no way to assure your safety in getting you back to your homes in the coming blizzards. I will call your parents and ask what they would like me to do. However, it is my personal opinion that you should all stay here for the holiday just to be safe."

A babble of voices instantly broke out.

Noelle grimaced at the yelling and complaining around the table. It was upsetting her kids.

Fatima was starting to smoke ominously, Brianna was going fuzzy around the edges, and Dawn's Disney Princess soup bowl was starting to rattle. Jeff was going pale and Allison was cowering in her chair.

A powerful stab of agony in her brain made her wince.

The fear of her children as the older students shouted and whined was thick and choking as poisonous gas.

That did it. She stood up. "_Silence!_"

The room was suddenly as quiet as a tomb, and some of them were looking at her rather surprised and frightened. Frankly, she didn't give a flying rat's ass.

"Dat's enough outta all o' y'!" she said coldly, her voice controlled and smooth. "Dere's nut'in we c'n do 'bout da weather an' i's better bein' here safe dan trahin' somet'in' stupid on da roads. Now all o' y' be quiet so da Professah c'n finish."

She glared around at them and sat back down to deal with the tears pouring down Allison's face. "I's alrahgt, _chère_. Ain' none o' it yo' fault. Don' crah…"

In the end, the other students agreed to speak to their parents after dinner and the rest of the meal was spent eating in silence. When all the food was gone, Noelle and her kids stayed behind to stay behind – Noelle because it was her turn to clean up and the kids because she had promised them hot chocolate and cookies when she was finished.

She had just started rinsing off the plates to put them into the dishwasher when she realized that both her siblings were helping the kids clear up.

"_Pourquoi est-ce que tu étais en tellement colère?_" Lucien asked with his usual directness.

"_Ils faisaient peur à mes enfants_," she said filling a particularly dirty pot with hot water to soak. "Ah don' lahke dat."

"But dat ain' it," Claire said, coming up behind them, her arms full of soiled utensils. "_C'était un mal de tête, n'est-pas?_"

Noelle gave her a sharp look. "Y' way too perceptive fo' y' own good, sugah."

Claire laughed and tossed her white bangs carelessly. "An' y' bein' too touchy."

At her younger sister's smug smile, Noelle couldn't help but laugh. The headache faded under the much lighter emotions of concern and contentedness of her brother and sister. "Y'all sure know how ta kill a bad mood."

Lucien leaned lazily on the counter and gave her the grin he had inherited from their father. "'S our pleasah', feelin' mo' human now?"

She flicked water at him. "Non, feelin' mo' mutant now."

He chuckled. "Close 'nuff. Y' gon' trah an' make da turkey dis year?"

"Gon' have ta. Ah heard Julie goin' on an' on 'bout how she's nevah trahed to cook a turkey. Said she wan'ed ta trah one."

Luke dropped the pot he had been holding. "Julie wan's ta make T'anksgivin' dinner?"

"Oui."

"_Mon dieu_," Claire whispered. "Y' can' let her do dat, Noelle!"

"Ah won', _je te promise_. Now pull out stuff ta make cookies an' hot chocolate – Ah got ten kids ta feed."

**Oh god, Julia Alvers cooking a turkey - shoot me please!**

**Review!! **

_**Il a une araignée au plafond! – **_**French slang that basically boils down to: "He's crazy!"**

_**Pourquoi est-ce que tu étais en tellement colère? **_**– "Why were you so angry?"**

_**Ils faisaient peur à mes enfants**_** – "They were scaring my kids"**

_**C'était un mal de tête, n'est-pas? – **_**"It was a headache, wasn't it?"**


	28. Chapter 28

**Whoohoo! Turkey day!**

**Someone's gonna ask Noelle out!!!**

Chapter 27

Lucien whistled good-naturedly as he peeled potatoes. It was Thanksgiving Day and he was one of many who had been captured by Laura, Jubilee, and his sister to help with the fast approaching Thanksgiving meal. He could see Noelle and Laura directing their helpers like generals leading troops into battle while Jubilee worked to get the dining room ready for the two dozen dishes soon to grace the table – not to mention the more than two dozen people waiting to devour it all.

"Gon' need mo' sage," his sister barked as she rubbed spices fiercely into one of the turkeys.

"Luke, Ah need dose _pommes de terre_ today!

"Sofya, dat ain' near 'nuff green beans fo' da casserole. Gon' need twice dat much!"

Laura was pouring bag after bag of bread crumbs into a massive bowl for stuffing. "Kelsey, those sweet potatoes are ready to go into the oven – the top shelf should still be open. Don't burn yourself.

"Adam, go find your father, there's no room to play in here – Julia! We don't need that many eggs in the cornbread! If you can't follow the recipe then step aside and let Claire do it!"

Their voices mingled as delicious scents wafted above their heads.

"Stir the cranberries!"

"Chop mo' lettuce!"

"Where is my celery?"

"Get da pecan pies outta da oven fo' dey burn!"

"Who's got the dough for the rolls?"

The voices of the helpers mixed with those of their leaders.

"Ow! Watch it, Denzel! That's hot!"

"Where do I put these eggs?"

"Julia, I don't think you need that much flour."

"Pass me that bowl?"

"What's beeping?"

"What's burning?"

"What's cooking?"

"Who had the spatula?"

"Where are the measuring cups?"

Lucien merely whistled the tune to "Devil Went Down to Georgia" and finished the potatoes. "Dere y' go, Noelle."

"_Merci_," she said distractedly. "Put 'em dere.

"Denzel! Get ovah heah an' mash dese fo' meh.

"Luke, c'n y' go help Sofy – she ain' puttin' in 'nuff milk."

He hunched his back just enough to get his spine to pop and was just about the duck around Kelsey, Julie, and Claire when he heard Denzel say very fast and very, very quietly, "Noelle? Could I – I ask you something?"

Older brother instincts kicked in at Denzel's cautious tone. Only one reason to talk like that.

"Luke?" Sofy began. "What are you doing?"

"Eavesdroppin'. C'mere – t'ink Denzel's gon' ask Noelle fo' a date."

His girlfriend hurried over and quickly set the bowl holding the contents of the casserole on the counter. "What's he saying?"

It didn't take very much focus for Luke to amplify the voices of his sister and her would-be suitor and dim the babble around them. "Lis'en fo' y'self."

"Sho'," Noelle said, heaving the turkey into a huge pan. "If Ah don' have ta stop workin' an' y' mash dose potatoes."

"Oh! Sure! Sure!" the big guy scrambled to get the masher and started slamming the utensil into the white mass of potatoes.

"_D'accord_, wha'd y' wan' talk 'bout?"

He had to restrain a scoff – like Noelle didn't know what Denzel was about to say. She had been asked out by hundreds of guys back home and even here where the word of 'mutant' was practically mud classmates had come up to ask her if she wanted to go see a movie. But then… this would be the first time anyone at the Institute asked her out and she was suitably distracted so as not to notice the rather obvious signs.

"Well… Do you think that once all of this is over… Thanksgiving, I mean, is over, that you might like to… I don't know… go see that new movie with Morgan Freeman in it?"

His sister stopped what she was doing. She looked her suitor right in the eye. "An' why should Ah go out wit' y'?"

Denzel looked even more nervous, which put him a little higher in Lucien's book. He knew he wasn't good enough for Noelle. "Well… do you like me?"

Noelle looked him up and down as though appraising a piece of meat. "Y' goodlookin' enough, Ah guess. Dat's a point in y' favor. An' y' lahke me. 'Nother point in y' favor. _Mon frère_ lahkes y'. Double points. Y' a good guy… 'Nother point. Wolverine lahkes y'. Double points. Y' c'n handle y'self in da Danger Room… Sho'. Ah go out wit' yah. If y' finish wit' dose potatoes."

Lucien smirked and slanted a glance at his girlfriend. "What y' t'ink? Should Ah castrate 'im now o' lateh?"

Sofya smiled good-naturedly. "Something tells me that Noelle would break you in two."

He chuckled. "Prob'ly. Maybe Ah should have mercy seein' as yo' brotheh didn' kill meh when Ah asked y' out."

"That is because I threatened both Alex and Vass with bodily harm if they tried to interfere."

He laughed outright. "Dat's _ma belle_ Sofy!"

"Do you think Denzel is good enough for Noelle?"

"No one's good 'nuff. But she wan's him so Ah keep mah mouth shut an' some sound saved up tah drop 'im if he upsets 'er."

"Luke! Sofy! We servin' dinner in two hours! We ain' got tahme fo' y'all ta be goofin' off!

"Vincent! Get yo' ass in heah! Need y' ta peel, core an' slahce dese apples… Wha' y' mean y' don' know how?!"

Ah, the chaos of preparing Thanksgiving dinner…

* * *

Vincent stared at the huge spread neatly placed on glass and china plates. Maybe it was because Thanksgiving and there were so many people to feed it seemed as though there was twice as much food here as there would be right now back home on his family's dining room table.

There were three massive turkeys at the center of the table, each carefully seasoned, spiced, and marinated to an inch of its metaphorical life. They looked cooked to perfection and the smell of them was making his mouth water. Then beside them were bowls overflowing with four different kinds of stuffing, then mashed potatoes and tureens of homemade gravy. Massive casserole dishes held green bean casseroles; basins were full of cranberry sauce; there were mounds of corn and salad. Four covered baskets were devoted solely to cornbread, biscuits, and rolls.

On a side table were the plates of deserts: pecan pies, pumpkin pies and apple turnovers.

His stomach moaned as he took a seat between James and Sarah and stared longingly at all the tantalizing food. "C'n we start eatin' now?"

His roommate and slowly developing best friend blinked at him. "Mate, you are aware that Noelle, Luke, and Claire all had a hand in making most of this stuff, right?"

"Dat's one o' da reasons I wan' get started. Dey may be T'ieves, but dey sho' know dere way 'round a kitchen."

"Kind o' y' ta say, Vincent," the Thief girl quipped lightly as she took a seat across from him, beside Denzel.

He scowled, but shrugged. "Wha's true is true."

It seemed to take forever for the Professor to show up and say an altogether too long prayer of Thanksgiving. His stomach was complaining and felt as though it was trying to claw its way from his body to attack the food itself.

"Amen!"

"Let's eat!"

"_Bon appétit_!"

And so the meal began.

It wasn't until after almost two hours of turkey, stuffing, pie, and talking did he lean back in his chair and watch the other conversations contentedly. Monica and James were talking her upcoming Christmas trip to London: "Don't hesitate to look me up, luv, I'll show you everything!" Further down the table, Miss Laura was firmly prying her son and husbands' hands away from their plates: "Why? Because eating any more food will greatly increase your risk for diarrhea, indigestion, and stomach pain. And because I said so." Then there was Sofya speaking with her _petit ami_ the Thief boy: "Do you Americans eat this way every Thanksgiving?"

Vincent sighed deeply and took a deep swig of Dr. Pepper.

"So… is there anywhere you'd like to go, Noelle?"

He looked up. On the other side of a destroyed turkey, Denzel was staring at the Thief girl with a rather pathetically eager expression that the Cajun was instantly able to identify. It was the look that a boy got when a girl way out of his league had deigned to grace him with her presence.

Well, it wasn't such a big surprise – it was obvious from the way the idiot had stared had the Thief like she was an angel come down from heaven that he had fallen hard for her.

But seriously. That look on Denzel's face was making him ashamed to call himself a man – how could anyone be that ridiculously enamored with one girl? He had about four dozen girl in New Orleans who would fight each other for a night in his bed and here was this one good looking kid drooling over one girl.

How annoying.

He shook his head. Yankees were all idiots.

* * *

It took an hour and a half to clean up the kitchen and dining room, and pack up all the leftovers. By the time they were finished, most of the children who the Thief girl had parked in the living room to watch Jim Carey's "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" were fast asleep.

Vincent however was fighting the turkey induced haze as he watched the football game. He had had to fight for a seat and ended up sitting beside Denzel and Edward Worthington.

"Go! Run you bastard!!!" Denzel howled at the Lions' runningback as he tore down the field towards his goal line. "Sorry, what did you say, Eddie?"

Edward rolled his eyes. "I was just saying that you've been in a good mood ever since dinner. What happened?"

The African American young man grinned idiotically. "I asked Noelle to go out with me! And she said yes!"

It took a lot to keep from rolling his eyes. "An' why da hell would y' ask her out?"

Denzel stared at him. "Have you _seen_ Noelle? She's beautiful and smart and _sexy_ and… she's got the best legs…"

"Watch it, _garçon_," the Thief boy said lightly from one of the armchairs. "Dat's _ma petite sœur_ y' talkin' 'bout. An' Ah reserve da rahght t' kick y' ass if y' upset her."

"What if he cheats on her, mate?" called James from the floor.

The room went deadly cold and the Thief boy turned dangerous eyes from the less-than-genius Brit to the defenseless Denzel. "Den Ah reserve da rahght ta obliterate whatever's left o' y' afteh Noelle's beaten da crap outta y' an' Logan's finished rippin' y' ta pieces. 'Course, if y' drop 'neath da Mason-Dixie Lahne, den y' be runnin' from _Père_ an' Mama an' y' c'n bet dat dey won' leave near 'nuff o' y' fo' meh ta blow inta da wind."

Denzel had gone the color of old chocolate pudding. "What are you trying to say?" he demanded, trying to sound tough and failing miserably.

The Thief gave him a dangerous smirk – it made Vincent check to make sure he still had his knife.

"Le's put it dis way, _mon ami_. Y' hurt ma sistah an' y' will suffeh an' die slowly, _comprends_?"

"Wh-what?"

"Y' understand?"

He nodded desperately.

A friendly, charming smile immediately replaced the deadly smirk. "Den y' got nut'in' ta worry 'bout. Glad we could have dis talk. Oh, an' y' be gettin' Logan's version t'morrow."

Vincent had to laugh at the look on Denzel's face.

* * *

Sofya slipped down the stairs. It was past two in the morning and she had no wish to be punished by Mr. Logan or Miss Laura for being out of bed.

But she couldn't sleep and for once it wasn't because of the nightmares of that… place… No tonight it was because he had kissed her. Luke had kissed her right in front of her room.

Even now, three hours later, she blushed harder than ever at the memory of him gently pressing his lips to hers. It made her fluttery in her stomach and a ridiculous smile spread across her face.

"You've got it bad, girl!" Julia had teased, and maybe she was right. Was this how it felt to be in love? Sofya had no idea. Luke was good natured and polite, but there were times when she wanted to slap him, especially when he teased and flirted with other girls in the Institute or at school. Noelle said he just did it because he like to see her, Sofya, get 'all hot 'n bothered', but whatever his reasons, she hated seeing him with anyone else.

She reached the kitchen. But she didn't feel like eating, so she set about getting herself some hot chocolate without even bothering to turn on the light.

"Good evening, Sofya Rasputin."

It took a moment for her to make sure her rapidly beating heart wasn't going to burst out of her chest at the unexpected voice. Squinting in the darkness, Sofya made out a familiar blonde decked out tastefully in the latest Parisian style pajamas. "Bridget? What are you doing here? Are you alright?"

"I am not particularly happy at the moment, Sofya Rasputin," the Swiss girl said flatly, staring fixedly at mug she held in her hands.

Sofya sat on a stool beside her. "Why? Would you like to speak about it?"

"I am annoyed at the distance that separates this particular point from the future."

Even though her brothers had told her about Bridget's hand in keeping her captivity secret, Sofya held no ill will to her – though that did not make understanding her any easier. "What do you mean?"

"Things will be rapidly changing close to Mardi Gras. Things will be brought to a head, powers will bloom and sparkle, darkness will be exposed, and all that is gold does not bring bloodshed. Two kinds of laughter stalk the Assassin and secrets must be revealed. Poisonous lies and manipulation will either be destroyed or will destroy us all."

"I do not understand? Are you saying that we are all in danger? More danger than usual? Can you tell me anything else?"

Bridget turned pale blue eyes on her. "I have said all that I will say. Except for this: Things will soon get much worse, Sofya Rasputin, and a choice stands before us all."

"What choice? How will things get worse?"

"You are lucky, Sofya Rasputin."

"May I ask how that is?"

"Your powers do not include seeing what cannot be changed."

"I beg your pardon? What do you mean?"

"I will say no more. Good night, Sofya. Treasure the heart being offered to you."

With those cryptic words, the oracle stood and silently padded out, leaving Sofy sitting on the stool, even more confused than she had been when she had descended the stairs.

**Oh. Did you think think I meant Vincent asked Noelle out? Haha! NO!**

**Review and please remember I hate flames!**

_**pommes de terre**_** – "apples of the earth" more commonly known as potatoes**

_**comprends**_** – "understand"**


	29. Chapter 29

**Filler chapter... but not so bad.**

**Review anyway...**

Chapter 28

School started just as another burst of snow came blowing into town. This meant of course that those with motorcycles were effectively stuck on four wheels until spring. So the two older Thieves were in dark moods as they were forced to ride to school in a pickup truck donated to the school sojourn cause by Bobby Drake.

Vincent was not particularly in a good humor himself at the thought of sloughing to school in all this white crap. He had hidden in the house all of break, hastily abandoning any room with a doorway to the icy hell just outside. His temper was not improved by the fact that the coat he had been forced to borrow after he realized his prized canvas duster, that had protected him from rain, wind, and mild Louisiana winters, did nothing to protect him from New York weather, belonged to the Thief boy.

It was older than the one the Thief was wearing, worn and jet black with wool lined insides. Soft to the touch, the pockets were deep and perpetually warm and, despite himself, he was glad for the ability to sink into its reliable thick protection.

If only it hadn't been them who had given it to him.

He went over it in his head in Alexei's truck.

He had been standing in the garage in his duster, hugging himself fiercely as he waited his turn to climb into the vehicle. Then the Thief girl had called out to him, laughing outright, "Y' ain' seriously t'inkin' 'bout tryin' ta wear dat in dis weather, are y'?"

Vincent had stared at down at his duster. "Wha's wrong wit' it?"

"I's too t'in ta block out anyt'in'! Y' ain' gon' las' ten minutes out dere."

So of course he had to try and prove her wrong by going outside with it on – she had been wrong: he hadn't lasted five minutes out there. When he had staggered back into the warmth of the Institute to get the feeling back in his arms, the Thief girl had been waiting for him, her brother standing just behind her looking none too thrilled.

"Heah," she had said, shoving the jacket into his arms. "Dis fo' y'."

"_Que l'enfer_?"

"Don' look so shocked, 'Ssassin-boy. We got a Danger Room session rahght afteh school ta make up fo' da one we didn' have dis mornin' an' Ah don' wan' y' ass so frozen y' cain' watch mahn."

It hadn't taken much convincing for him to accept it, though in his defense it was damn cold out there – too cold to hold so strong to his pride. Though he didn't thank her or her brother – his pride could only stretch so far. On further inspection he had found leather gloves stuffed into the pockets of the jacket. He had shot them both a suspicious glance; the Thief boy had ignored him completely but his younger sister had cocked her head playfully and grinned as though she had won some battle.

And perhaps she had, he thought now as he hunched miserably in the backseat of Alexei's truck, his body and his hands grateful for the warmth provided by the jacket and gloves. The nagging feeling was back and for some reason he was thinking of the boots the little girl – he really should give her a name – had given him.

* * *

Denzel walked through the halls of Bayville High like Napoleon marching through the Triumphal Arch in Paris. His and Noelle's first date had gone incredibly well and she had even allowed him to kiss her on the cheek, apparently choosing to forget the four times he had managed to trip over his own two feet, the five times he had choked on nothing, and the two times he had inhaled his drink up his nose when he laughed.

His mind kept going back over Noelle's outfit: slick dark blue jeans with high-heeled black boots, both of which served to make her legs look several delicious miles long. She had worn a dark green tank top with a black woven little sweater that tied just under her breasts. She had put her hair up in a loose bun with her too long bangs framing her face just right.

Having a girl that hot on your arm gave a guy's self esteem some major boosting.

"C'mon, man!" laughed one of his very few human school friends, Chris. "Who's this new girl of yours?"

Grinning like the Cheshire cat, he pointed at the swiftly vanishing form of Noelle.

"Her? Bro, you're dating a white-chick?"

"Hey!" Denzel snapped. "Show some respect, bro. That is a lady. She's the hottest girl at the Institute."

"Don't know about that – that Monica's got a damn fine ass."

"She's also got a real overprotective big brother."

"Yeah, I saw him. One good punch would land that prissy ass of his out."

"Not Noelle's brother. Boy's the real deal – he'd kill me if I tried anything with his sister."

"Now him I wouldn't wanna tangle with. He's got the gangster look."

"Boy is. Back where they come from, they're both part of a real crime family."

"Come on!"

"Really. They're Thieves and there's this other family called the Assassins. They've been killing each other for years."

An impressed whistle. "So… girl like that, you trying to get some?"

A very slow smile crossed Denzel's full lips. "Eventually. But for now, I just wanna see where this goes."

* * *

"Brilliant, Vincent," Miss Fiennes said after a long moment of silence. "Brilliant."

Vincent grinned brightly – and without a trace of modesty. "Merci. I do try."

Everyone in his Art class had gathered around to admire his newest painting.

Athena (who bore an unmistakable resemblance to a certain Russian girl) was seated on a white marble bench. Her robes were a cascade of dark red folds of painted linen as she reclined gracefully. Her eyes were deep and held wisdom that managed to unnerve and comfort at the same time and she seemed far more interested in fulfilling her role of Goddess of Wisdom rather than that of Goddess of War; the engraved armor and weapons, all golden and befitting a goddess, lying abandoned around her feet.

But she was _there_. In a way that all of his attempts of portraying his mother had somehow missed. Not quite in the way his _Fille de Nouvelle Orleans _did, but still in a way that caught the eye and held it a haze of wonder and delight.

It took several minutes for his classmates to wander back to their own works and Miss Fiennes to give him a more detailed evaluation.

"Well, Vincent, I have to say I am extremely relieved that you've stopped trying to draw that blond woman and moved to other subjects. This piece has the same quality as your first work – though I must say that it lacks… something…"

"_Je sais_," he answered wearily, tapping his paintbrush against his palm. "I jus' cain' seem ta get dat same feelin' wit' _mon_ ot'er drawin's as I got wi' da first. Somet'in's missin'."

His teacher bit her lip and eyed the canvas for a long moment. "All I can advise is trying to draw something close to your heart. You definitely had your heart set upon that adorable child. Who did you say she was?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Jus' someone I knew a while ago."

"Hm. Well, I'd say you should try and draw her again – are you still in contact with her?"

"No."

"Hmmm… pity, it would be a treat to see how that girl turned out as a young woman."

_Sho would_, he thought thinking about her happy, wicked smile.

"Also, I would like to discuss the possibility of entering your artwork in the end of year Art Competition. The winner receives a ten thousand dollar prize and his or her pieces would be displayed in the Metropolitan Museum."

"Le'me t'ink about dat."

* * *

"Are you _crazy_?" Julia shrieked not twenty minutes later. "Let you think about it? Enter! Do you know how prestigious this competition is? Your artwork against the rest of the East Coast's!"

"Don' recall mah schoolwork bein' any o' yo' business, _petite_," Vincent said, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"But look at this!" the small girl wailed, waving the Athena painting. "It's gorgeous! You could win!"

"I'd only win if I could paint somet'in' like my first paintin'. Somet'in' like dat'd get moi first prize easy."

"What was your first painting?"

"I show it ta y' later."

This mollified her a bit and she dove into another topic. "I cannot _believe_ that Denzel and Noelle are going out! I mean, I knew Denzel had a huge crush on her but to actually ask her out and for her to agree!"

"She must like him."

"Nah," he rejected James' idea. "She probably jus' playin' him o' i's a pity date."

"Noelle is not capable of such a thing!" Vassily protested. "She would tease him and such but never would she so cruelly… what is it you Americans say? Lead him on!"

"A T'ief is capable of anyt'in'."

"Including saving your life!" James pointed out.

Vincent scowled at his best friend. "T'anks fo' dat, mon ami."

"No worries, mate."

The red pickup pulled through the gates of the Institute to find the other X-vehicles already neatly parked in the driveway. "Why is it that we are always the last people to get home?"

"Because Vincent insists on flirting with every attractive girl he sees."

"Hey now, mes amis," he said soothingly. "We all got our hobbies. Mine jus' happens ta be makin' all da pretty filles in da world feel better 'bout deyselves."

"You're a regular humanitarian," Julia deadpanned.

He laughed. "Y' got no idea, petite!"

* * *

He dreamt of stumbling through the bayou barefooted, the Thief gang from his childhood lightly running before him. They seemed intangible, not stumbling over the tree roots and heedless of the sucking mud and the knee deep water. Worse, they were taunting him with a pair of white sneakers that he knew belonged to him.

"Come back!" he tried to shout but he was too breathless to do much more than gasp desperately.

That only made them laugh even more.

"Over here! Hey, you!" called a voice.

It was a tall man, more than six feet if he was an inch, standing on a nearby dry patch and extending his hand out to him.

Vincent struggled closer and grabbed the offered limb. The man's long fingers clamped down powerfully around his wrist and pulled him out of the quagmire with one powerful heave.

"T'ank y', _monsieur_!" Vincent panted on all fours.

"No prob… So do ya wanna fight me?"

"Huh?" he looked up at his savior.

The man had blonde-brown hair cut in longish sort of crew cut, a strong good looking face, hazel brown eyes, and strange sort of smile played around his lips. He was wearing green military style trousers with combat boots, black gloves, a red top covered by a black Kevlar vest, and straps over his chest that held two swords.

An interesting character to be sure but what Vincent couldn't believe was the _resemblance_… the forehead… the nose… the cheeks… That was his own face almost line for line duplicated in this stranger…

Could this be...?

"Who're you?" he tried to ask.

"Shush!" the man put up a hand and cocked his head to one side. "You hear that?"

Vincent listened. There was the sound of a boat coming closer.

"That," the man said gravely, "is the sound of a thousand terrible things coming this way. If they find us, they will crush us, grind us into tiny pieces and blast us into oblivion!"

"Isn' dat from Star Wars?"

"Yup. Damn, those Jedi have all the luck – wish I could have a lightsaber!"

"Vincent!"

Vincent turned around to see the little girl standing on the water and waving at him, her bright eyes gleaming at him.

"That your girlfriend?" the man asked from behind him.

"She too young."

"Doesn't look that way to me."

It was true, even as the two men watched the girl was changing. She was getting taller, the round childish features becoming slicker. The jeans and shirt were gone, replaced with a white robe. Light glowed around her, making her look angelic. But he knew it was still the child who had pulled him from the canal – but now she was growing older as he stared. The thick auburn hair fell into those eyes – even now he couldn't tell what color they were…

And suddenly he was looking at –

But that wasn't possible…

NO

It couldn't be –

_Crash_

Vincent jolted and fell off his bed as James slammed the door looking furious.

"To bloody hell with women!" his roommate howled.

Rubbing a sore backside, the Cajun stood up. Ignoring his angry friend, he desperately tried to remember the face of the young woman the little girl had turned into…

He remembered that she had been standing just above the water, like some sort of Jesus imitation, all in white and glowing. He tried to bring her adult face into some kind of focus but hit a mental brick wall.

Damn it! So close!

**Sigh... could have come out so much better...**

**Well... anybody know how Vincent should react when he realizes who the little girl is?**

**Review!**

_**Que l'enfer**_** – "What the hell?"**


	30. Chapter 30

**And Christmas is here!!!! **

**Thanks for all those who are favoriting me and my story, but now kindly just press that review button!**

**C'mon.... I'll give you the next chapter early!**

Chapter 29

December was a truly miserable month to be stuck in New York. There was snow – snow! – everywhere, ice on the roads, freezing temperatures for miles around… this hellhole wasn't fit for human – or mutant – habitation!

Just three more days until he could go home! Back to his beloved N'Awlins where the air was still warm and muggy and he didn't have to wear four layers to keep from freezing his ass and extremities off. Home… of course, this also meant going back to face his mother and trying to explain why a certain trio of Thieves had made it back to the Big Easy in one piece each.

Vincent hoped his mother would put off crucifying him until the Epiphany. Maybe the cheerful season of the holidays would put her in a forgiving mood. Sure, and maybe the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny and Santa Claus would show up for a couple of drinks.

But a guy could hope, right?

Meanwhile, the Institute had been decorated with such enthusiasm it would put his own house to shame. There were Christmas lights all over the outside (he had been forced to help put them up in below freezing temperatures), holly wreaths on every available outer door, mistletoe hung in every doorframe (there were traffic jams as people stopped and made sure they would not be caught under the plant with anyone unworthy), ribbons and garlands were wound around the stair railings and pillars, stockings were hung at the fireplace… and the tree.

God, had there ever been such a tree?

It stood a majestic nine feet tall and was entwined with all manner of glittering garlands, paper chains, ribbons, and twinkling lights, ornaments of every type hung from the branches. The Thief girl had flown the girl Brianna to the top of the tree where the tiny child could place the huge crystal star at the place of honor. This year, a Secret Santa had been arranged so that each person would shop for three others – to cut down on the space that the presents would take up. The plan had failed miserably. Presents were piled knee high all around and there had to be older students and instructors posted around the tree to keep sneaky youngsters from trying to shake the gifts.

Then there was the cooking. Everyone with any culinary ability had pitched in to create the sumptuous dishes that would make up their Christmas dinner. Alana Wagner had whipped up some kind of German chocolate pudding concoction that had everyone clambering for a taste. Then there were the gingerbread cookies from Monica Worthington. Little chocolate treats from Bridget. Sarah and her mother contributed several peppermint and chocolate cakes. The younger children baked mounds of cookies. The Thief girls roped their brother into helping them make four different kinds of cheesecakes. A ham big enough to have been a small pony when it was still a pig was dressed along with an impressive turkey. Side dishes of scalloped potatoes, gelatin fruit salad, dinner rolls and a shrimp and scallop scampi for vegetarians were prepared with incredible care by everyone. Julia was allowed to make eggnog under the watchful eye of Tessa and Laura.

The last day before they were all to leave for their homes – Storm had neatly rerouted any pesky weather – Vincent entered the kitchen to see, yet again, the kitchen bedecked in Happy Birthday banners. Despite the early hour, there was already a crowd of people gathered around the table, each reaching for small, sugar covered things he recognized instantly as beignets.

"Whose birthday is it?" he asked a passing Saya.

The little Japanese girl answered, trying not to spray him with dough or sugar. "Noelle's!"

"Noelle?" he repeated.

"Yeah?"

He jumped and spun to the Thief girl behind him. "'S y' birthday?"

"Non, non," she laughed lightly and tossed her head just enough to throw her bangs out of her face. "Dere's a reason _mes parentes_ called _moi_ Noelle. Ah was born on _la veille de Noel_. But heah we always celebrate mah _anniversaire_ da day rahght 'foh we leave fo' da holidays."

Vincent shifted from foot to foot. "_Bon anniversaire_, den."

She smiled at him easily. "_Merci_. Y' gon' get some o' _mon frere_'s beignets?"

A wry smile stretched across his lips. "Don' look like it'll be dat easy gettin' t' 'em."

Another light laugh and a brisk toss of her head, her cross gleamed. "Amateur."

He watched dubiously as the young woman walked forward, and with liberal usage of her elbows disappeared into the crowd. She was back in under a minute, holding a bulging napkin. "Heah. Take dis so Ah c'n go an' get mah own. Consider it yet ano'ter faveh y' owe meh."

_Go figure_, Vincent thought darkly as he ate the Thief's beignets. _Of all da people I coulda been sent ta kill, I get one wit' a sense o' humor._

* * *

They spent the rest of the morning setting up long buffet tables for the food they had spent the last week preparing. Then it was time to tackle the food and drink as they settled in to tear open the presents.

The Thief girl was waist deep in small, excited children and brightly wrapped boxes while she handed out the gifts. Instantly, squeals sounded from all over the room as the wrapping paper was torn apart to reveal fire trucks, dolls, stuffed animals, and every toy imaginable. It took less than ten minutes to get through the mountain of kids' presents and after a few minutes of stabbing through plastic and cardboard with her pocketknife to release the toys into their new owners' hands, she sent them across the room to play.

Then the older students had their chance to hand out their own gifts.

Vincent grinned as his three recipients Denzel, Alexei, and Sarah beamed over the things he had bought for them (a Lions jersey, a book of Shakespearean literature – he wondered how anyone could enjoy reading Macbeth – and a growing kit for miniature rose bushes, respectively).

Meanwhile…

Bridget smiled knowingly at a pair of earrings.

Alana delighted in a charm bracelet.

James crowed over a brand new Zippo lighter.

Charles grinned over _The Art of War_.

Sofya held up a lovely necklace.

Vincent, himself, laughed as he was given a book on bushido techniques and sword care and a professional artist's shoulder bag, fully stocked with pencils, erasers, and a clean sketch pad. But what stuck in his mind was a slick set of slender throwing knives worthy of any Grade A hitman, each with perfect balance and the insignia of an X inside a bullseye.

Since no one felt like gathering up the decimated mounds of shredded wrapping paper after it was all over, Wolverine gave them a choice: clean up or Danger Room sessions on full stomachs. There was a stampede to clean up.

* * *

Vincent stared impassively at his opponents. What did that twitch mean? Was that a smile? Was his own face giving anything away?

"I fold," Charles Summers said, setting his cards face down on the table.

"Me too," agreed Alexei.

The Thief boy was staring at his sister with such intensity that Denzel and Sofy, both of whom were sitting on either side of the young woman, started to edge away from her. Not that there seemed to be anything to watch, the Thief girl was staring calmly back at her brother, a neutral smile playing at her otherwise impassive face.

"Lucien?" asked James. "You folding or what?"

"Ah raise." He tossed in several chips.

"Call," James said.

"Call," Vincent said.

"Fold," Sofy said.

"Call," the Thief girl said.

"Call," Denzel said.

Another card was displayed.

"Call," the Thief boy said.

"Fold," James sighed.

"Call," Vincent said quickly.

"Ah raise," the Thief girl declared, setting forward a handful of new chips.

"Call," Denzel croaked.

"Fold," the Thief boy immediately said.

"Call," Vincent declared.

"All right, gentlemen and lady," Bobby Drake declared from his perch as dealer. "Reveal your cards!"

Denzel laid out a pair of eights, and three fours.

"A pair and a three of a kind."

Vincent grinned smugly and laid out a nine of clubs, an eight of clubs, a seven of clubs, a six of clubs, and a five of clubs.

"A straight flush!"

The Thief girl coolly laid out her hand. The ace of hearts, the king of hearts, the ten of hearts, the jack of hearts, and – with a triumphant smile – drew one of the revealed cards toward her: the queen of hearts.

"Royal flush. The winnings to Noelle."

"Where'd ya learn ta play cards like this?" Denzel asked his girlfriend as she collected her winnings.

"_Mon père_ taught meh ta play when Ah was four."

"She been fleecin' N'Awlins since she was six," her brother added grimly. "Even Ah cain' beat 'er when she's out fo' blood."

"Y' cain' beat y' own sisteh?" Vincent jeered.

"Nope," the Thief said, popping the 'p'. "But den… neit'er can anybody else."

The subtle jab sent the Assassin Prince back to growling at the substantial dent in his wallet.

"Well," the Thief girl said, standing up. "Ah t'ink i's tahme fo' _moi_ ta take ma leave."

"Ah, so soon, my friend?" Sofya asked.

"Gotta pack, sugah. An' Ah should leave fo' Ah got too much moneh ta drag back home."

Vincent slapped down his cards and stood up. "I should get goin' too. Night."

He caught up to the Thief girl at the stairs.

"_Bonjour_, Vincent, you gotta pack too?"

Ignoring the question, he snapped, "_Ma famille_ ain' gon' be too happy dat y'all gon' be gettin' back in one piece."

"_Je sais_." Her brisk pace up the steps didn't falter.

"If I see y' o' _ton frère_ o' _petite soeur_ walkin' alone anywhere in N'Awlins, y' should know dat I will –"

"Trah an' kill us, _je sais, je sais_. Don' worreh, sugah, Ah know da score. Ah see you back here next year. See if y' c'n improve y' poker skills."

Vincent growled, but was taken aback by her next statement.

"Trah not t' stick ma famille wit' y' knives, _d'accord_? Don' wan' t'ink Ah enabled y'."

"Y' da one who…"

"Pulled y' name out last," she said cheerfully. "Took a hell of long tahme trahin' ta fahnd da rahght tahpe fo' y'. Enjoy."

Tipping him a mischievous wink, the young Thief trotted off up the stairs, her halter top riding up just enough to give him a quick glance at her Master's mark.

When he lay down in his bed several hours later, his suitcases packed and stuffed full of his clothes, the presents he had gotten for his family, the art bag, the sword book, and other odds and ends, Vincent took one of the knives and ran it over in his hands, feeling the slick handle perfectly tailored for a man's hand, the razor sharp blade, and the elegant tapered shape. It was first class work and couldn't have been cheap. Especially since they had come in a box from Emerson – no Assassin got a set of knives like these until they reached Master level and here he was getting a brand new set from the girl whose death would earn him one!

"Well, dat's irony," he muttered to himself, tossing the weapon into the air and catching it expertly by its tip.

He was still sitting hunched up, playing with the knife when his roommate came back.

"Is something the matter, mate?"

"_Homme_, y' eveh had somet'in' on y' mind an' no matteh how hard y' tried, da damn t'ing wouldn' be clear?"

"What do you mean?"

"I been havin' dis dream 'bout a _belle fille_ I met once… _mais_ I cain' remember her face. I's jus' outta mah reach… Like when a word's on da tip o' y' tongue? Dat's what I got, only in mah head…"

James frowned for a long moment, then laughed brightly. "That's an easy one! You're the artist, aren't you? Just draw her! You know, let your mind just wander and draw whatever. That's what my dad does when he can't think of what he's thinking of… he just writes until it comes to him."

"Does dat work?"

"Works for us! C'mon mate, you got that nice art stuff today! Use it!"

* * *

Claire shifted impatiently as the 747 opened its doors to let her fellow passengers off.

"_Dieu merci_!" Noelle gasped, throwing her head back.

The younger girl giggled. Her sister hated flying commercially and after several sessions of absorbing the power of flight, Claire could understand why. Flying surrounded by steel was as good as being grounded to a woman used to soaring through the sky in nothing but her skin and clothes.

It didn't take too long to get off the plane and even less time to get out into the receiving area.

"_Maman_!" Claire laughed, hurrying forward to a tall slender woman with telltale white streaks in her dark auburn hair.

Rogue caught her daughter and pulled her close. "Hey sweet pea, how was ya' flahght?"

"It was okay," she said.

"_C'etait horrible_," Noelle interrupted. "It took _toujours_!"

"It couldn'a been dat bad," Remy said, striding over to hug his eldest daughter and clap his son on the back. "Y' got here 'ventually."

He zeroed in on the slender girl trying to hide at the fringes of their little group. "Who's dis? I t'ought we all agreed no more strays oveh da holidays."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Don' be mean, Papa. Dis Graziella."

"Hello," whispered the small Italian, twisting her hands and looking up at Remy through her dark sunglasses. She had been truly miserable as the days drew closer to Christmas. Her parents had disowned her not long after she had been kidnapped from the canals and streets of her beloved Venice and she had been facing a long few weeks alone at the Institute with only the younger children and instructors for company. But on the last day before everyone was due to leave, Claire had paused in her packing and asked why Graziella wasn't doing the same. Hadn't the Professor told her that Claire had gotten permission from her parents to bring a friend home for Christmas? Now it was the moment of truth… would she be allowed to stay?

"_Bonjour, petite_," their father said with exaggerated extravagance and dropping to one knee to clasp Graziella's hand. "_Enchante_."

A pale hand descended on the dramatic Cajun's collar and dragged him away from the blushing girl. "Behave ya-self, Swamp Rat." Rogue directed a kind smile at the shy girl. "Hello there, sugah. Ya can call meh Rogue an' this idiot oveh heah is mah husband. Swamp Rat o' Cajun'll do just fahne fo' him."

Graziella looked well and truly bewildered now and shot an unsure glance at her hosts, none of whom seemed the slightest bit surprised or upset by their parents' antics. On the contrary, Lucien was calmly looking up at the screen that explained where to pick up baggage, Noelle was checking her purse, and Claire was tugging at her arm. "Don' worry, Grazi, dey always lahke dis. An' y' c'n call Papa Remy. Dat's his name."

"Kinda dark in here, petite," the father said, somehow managing to free himself from his wife's grip. "W'as wit' da sunglasses?"

She pushed her cheap plastic sunglasses even higher up on her nose and tried not to meet the man's gaze – the gaze hidden behind sunglasses. Wait. Hadn't Claire and Noelle told her about-

Remy peered over the rims of his sunglasses, revealing jet black where the whites of his eyes should have been, and fierce burning red in place of the iris. "Le'see dose eyes Claire was talkin' about."

Very shyly, she pulled down the glasses and showed the two her feline eyes.

Rogue whistled in appreciation. "They're beautiful."

"_Très jolie_," Remy agreed.

Graziella beamed and directed her gaze shyly at her shoes. They liked her eyes!

"Where's _Tante_?" Noelle asked, joining the conversation.

"At home, pro'ly cookin' up 'nuff ta feed da whole o' N'Awlins," their father said goodnaturedly. "Le's not keep 'er waiting, henh?"

Claire grinned, grabbed Graziella's hand in her gloved one and dragged her off to collect their luggage. God, it was good to be home!

* * *

The lab was quiet. Ah… blessed silence. It was so wonderful. You never realized just how beautiful silence was until you never got it anymore.

He sighed contentedly.

"WAHHH! ROXANNE!"

Red eyes closed in a desperate bid for patience. "Mr. Wilson, please. It has been several months, surely you can simply get another sword?"

A long lean body convulsed dramatically. "You can't just get another sword! Roxanne was special! Do you know how many men I had to kill for her? Huh? Do ya? Do ya? Do ya? Do-"

"May I ask where your… Roxanne is?"

What might have been a pout through the red mask. "That blond kid at the Institute – that Sniper-kid – has her. He'd better be treating her right! Can I –"

"No you may not go get her. I have a job for you."

"OOOOOOO! What is it? What is it? Can I kill someone?"

"I need you to break my Marauders out of the facilities of SHIELD."

"And then can I go get Roxanne?"

"Actually, Mr. Wilson, after you have retrieved my Marauders, I will have you and them approach the Xavier's Institute again."

A deep growl from the shadows. "I could get the little brat alone easily."

"Thank you, Mr. Creed, but I would like Miss LeBeau alive and unspoiled. That is not your area of expertise. We wait."

"COOL!"

"That does not include you, Mr. Wilson. I expect my Marauders out by March. But before that… there is something I need you to obtain for me."

"Okay, okay, I'm going." A fond pat to a belt buckle in the rather cartoonish shape of a certain mercenary's red mask. "C'mon mini-me, let's go!"

"Mr. Wilson?"

"EEEHHH… What's up, Doc?"

Insert a long moment of taking a deep breath. "Mr. Wilson, do you even know what you are going to get for me?"

"Oh. Is knowing that important?"

…

"Yes, Mr. Wilson, it is."

"Bummer."

**Uh-oh? What could Sinister want?**

**Review please!**

_**la veille de Noel – "Christmas Eve"**_

_**Bon anniversaire – **_**"Happy Birthday"**

_**petite soeur – **_**"little sister"**

_**je sais, je sais**_** – "I know, I know"**

_**C'etait horrible**_** – "It was horrible"**

_**Toujours**_** – "Always"**


	31. Chapter 31

**I'm sooooo sorry, I couldn't upload this chapter earlier - dumb Doc Manager**

**But don't worry, as a solemn apology you should be getting another chapter by tonight...**

**Hope you like it!**

Chapter 30

Noelle LeBeau stretched lazily as the warmth of the Xavier Institute washed over her skin. Christmas break was almost over and the New Year had started. It was so nice to be another year older and another year (supposedly) wiser. She had celebrated her birthday with her family with the usual – enough beignets to sink the city and her _Tante_'s famous gumbo. And then there had been Christmas…

She was still firmly under the impression that nothing could beat a Christmas in New Orleans, unless of course it was Mardi Gras in New Orleans… hmmm… tough call.

Claire was singing under her breath as she unwound her freshly knitted navy blue scarf from around her slender neck. "Ah miss home already."

Lucien scoffed. "Sug, y' were missin' it 'foh we even got on da plane. It took _moi _an' _Pere_ ta pry y' off Mama an' drag y' sorry ass onta da plane."

"Didn't Noelle have to help as well?" Graziella giggled, her sunglasses sitting negligently on her head.

Ignoring the bickering of her siblings, Noelle shrugged off her coat and greeted Sage. "_Bonjour_, Mam'selle Tessa. How was y' Christmas?"

"It was… satisfying," the woman said with a slow smile.

A wicked grin spread across her face. "_D'accord mon amie_, wha's his name?"

An uncharacteristic look of defensiveness came over the older woman's face. "I do not know what you are talking about."

Noelle smirked. "Fahne, don' tell meh. Dis de Xavier Institute. Ah fahnd out sooneh o' lateh."

And she grabbed her bags and her coat and walked to her room. And met the reason for Sage's happiness coming down the stairs wearing a Jets jersey and faded jeans.

"Y' Mam'selle Tess' new _petit_ _ami_?"

"If that means boyfriend, kind of." The man had chocolate colored skin, several shades lighter than Denzel, and easily stood taller than six feet. Built like an ox, he had fierce, gleaming, dark eyes set under stern brows and a neatly shaved head.

She eyed him up and down. "Wha's 'kinda'? A gay bes' friend o' an f-buddy?"

The man scowled darkly. "Do I look gay to you?"

"Hard ta tell dese days. So what are y'?"

"He's an old friend," came a familiar growling voice.

Noelle didn't bother turning around, she merely rolled her head around her neck to look at the short Canadian behind her. "_Bonjour_, Logan."

"Hey Mouse," Logan greeted. "Still in one piece?"

"Seem to be. Who's dis guy?"

"An old friend."

"So he don't have a name?"

"Call me Bishop."

"_Je suis Noelle. Enchante_. Now outta mah way, dese bags ain' lahght."

Well, she thought fairly, dumping her bags on her bed. As far as men went, at least Tessa had good taste.

* * *

Vincent Boudreaux had never been happier to see snow as when he touched down at LaGuardia airport. Christmas in New Orleans had been a nightmare. His mother had been furious upon learning that the children of the Prince of Thieves were still alive and well – even more furious at the fact that her son was taking the time to gain their trust rather than just knifing them immediately, and absolutely infuriated when he insisted on continuing with his plan alone. She had been very much intrigued with his increased healing ability and absolutely delighted with his newfound talent of using his powers on more than one projectile at once.

That had meant practices. For three hours he had had to sit in a chair and slash open his own wrists so his family could determine how far his powers stretched. It had stopped only after he started falling out of his chair from dizziness due to blood loss and started having hallucinations. Then there had been the breaking of his ribs and timing how long they took to heal. Then there had been the organ damage experiments. He might as well have stayed in Bayville and suffered Logan's training sessions everyday for three weeks.

Then there had been target practice. If he had to look at another bullseye he was going to burn his face off and join Deadpool in whatever it was the freak did beside terrorizing teenagers and mooning over Bea Arthur. Though to be fair he was now perfect at it. He just didn't like the practice it took to get that good.

After that had been his family's favorite pastime: Thief hunting. For some reason, Vincent just couldn't get into it. They had managed to catch an Apprentice, a scrawny little thing called Alain, and of course had started in on the kid but he found himself feeling less enthused about kicking a defenseless little kid when you outweighed, outnumbered and just about out-everythinged him. His mind kept going back to the day he had met the little girl – they had tried to chase him down too, nearly caused him to drown.

And his mind had very quietly made a strange and dangerous remark: This wasn't the kid's fault…

Instantly, the Prince had shoved the thought aside and kicked the kid hard enough in the stomach to make him pass out, knowing that would make his cousins lose interest. Thank God he hadn't run into the three Thieves he was acquainted with; that would've gotten very messy very quickly.

Now he was back where the training was kept in Danger Room sessions – where food was given freely no matter how badly you had done on the last test. Where he could sleep in a nice bed and not worry about being woken up at all hours of the night because his mother wanted to see how he would react to ambushes…

Vincent waited as the plane taxied into the runway, then patiently made his way off the plane, smiled charmingly at the stewardesses – the three youngest and a very well groomed steward blushed and giggled amongst themselves – and made his way through the gate towards the baggage claim.

The flight had been miserable – mostly because he had refused his mother's offer of a first class flight in favor of a much earlier economy class flight. To be fair it had been much cheaper and faster: he had flown out of New Orleans this morning at 6AM, had a brief stopover in Charlotte, North Carolina and then a flight straight from there to New York. And being away from his mother and his family more than made up for the cramped muscles in his legs, arms and… everywhere else.

Grabbing his bag from the conveyor belt, he hissed as a goofy looking tourist with ridiculous sunglasses and a huge walrus mustache clipped him diving for a suitcase with Teletubby stickers all over it.

"Sorry," the guy squeaked in a nasally geek voice.

Vincent cursed under his breath as he stared at the red cut across his hand – it wasn't bad, it was just annoying and it _stung._

He had heaved his luggage away when he was met by the serious Laura. "_Bonjour, Madame_."

"_Bonjour_," she greeted with a perfect Parisian accent. "Good flight?"

A shrug. "Was okay."

"Good. Come, they are making lunch at the Institute."

By the time they had found the small, black SUV that looked as though it had been stolen from the Marine Corps – which it probably had been – Vincent had decided to request someone other than Laura when asking for a ride from the airport; the woman was about as talkative as a gator and just as friendly. The whole of the forty-five minutes it took to get back to Institute was spent in very uncomfortable silence, broken only by the random cough, shift, or sigh.

Vincent was extremely relieved to see the Institute's walls and had to restrain himself from diving from the vehicle as they went up to the garage.

At last they reached the garage and he immediately reached for the door handle. The door was locked. He whipped around to see his instructor looking at him with a highly unfriendly expression on her face.

The ride back to the Institute hadn't been half as tense as the one he experienced now, looking into the fierce green eyes of the woman before him. Laura Masters-Summers made his mother's best death glare look like a cute pout.

After a thousand years of quiet, two words filled the air and his driver unlocked the door and left him alone in the car. "Behave yourself."

* * *

Bridget sat very still and quiet in the kitchen of the Institute. Christmas had been most satisfactory, just as she had known it would be. An electronic book capable of holding hundreds of thousands of pages of literature in an easy package had been the best – not that she hadn't foreseen it.

The visions for her upcoming power surge were becoming even more worrying. She saw her prophetic abilities stretching to such an extent that it would make or break some very turbulent relationships, namely the one between Vincent Boudreaux and Noelle LeBeau. The futures of those two particularly gave her trouble. When Bridget looked into the future, there were generally several paths and several ending available to a person. They often changed if someone made a radical decision or did something royally stupid, but such things were few and very far between.

That was, until she had met Noelle LeBeau. The first time she had seen the other girl she had been coming to the Institute with her father to speak to the Professor. They had knocked politely on the great, dignified front doors and Noelle LeBeau had answered. Bridget had taken one look at the short, slender girl in cut off jeans and halter top and fainted. The tangle of possible futures and possibilities belonging to the other girl had been too much for Bridget's capabilities at the time. She had never thought she would meet another one like Noelle. And then she had met Vincent Boudreaux. Thank God for her increased control or she would have vomited all over the table when she had first met him. Just as horribly entangled as Noelle's. And even more horrifically entangled with Noelle's.

She sighed. The coming year was not going to be pleasant. Especially not when Vincent found out about his father.

She sighed again. It was hard being such a 'know-it-all'. Especially since she couldn't interfere with what she saw… not after what had happened to her mother.

* * *

When Vincent got to his room, he found James grinning at his hands like an idiot as he flicked his lighter rhythmically.

Neither said anything as Vincent swung his bags onto his bed and began to unpack. He pulled out his clothes, then his shoes, then his books, then his knives, the knives the Thief girl had given to him (his whole family had oohed and aahed over them, asking where he had bought them), then with all the care he possessed he pulled out the art bag, which was now heavy with all of his desperate attempts to reproduce the young woman he still remembered from his dreams.

He was just unpacking his sketchpad when James' lighter gave a particularly loud click. Okay. That was it.

"D'y' have t' do dat, _mon ami_?"

"She said yes!" James shouted, leaping up as a ring of flames erupted around him.

Though he was used to flying tongues of fire, he didn't want to get used to accompanying third degree burns – even if they did immediately heal afterwards. "Whoa dere, _mon ami_! Wha's her name?"

The flames arranged themselves into little fiery constellations that whirled through the air like a golden Milky Way. Vincent gave this a wary look before going back to his unpacking and waiting for his roommate to explain his happiness.

"Monica," James said as though he was intoning the name of a goddess. "She said she'd go out with me!"

Vincent looked up so fast his neck cricked. "Monica? Blond? Liz Taylor eyes? She said she'd go out witcha?"

"Yeah!" the Brit's face suddenly fell. "Did you like her?"

He laughed. "Nah, if I'm gon' marry _une fille_, i's gon' be a Southern _fille_. An' Monica's plen'y nice an' all, but she ain' no Southern belle."

James smirked. "It's too bad Noelle's dating Denzel. She's the only other real Southern girl we've got. Well, not including Claire but you don't strike me as a pedophile."

"Noelle?" Who was – Oh, yeah, the Thief girl. What the hell?! "Are y' out o' y' mind? Wha' could possible make me wan' date her?"

His roommate shrugged. "Why not? She's nice, smart, looks pretty damn hot in a bikini, and she can keep up with you. Besides, you can't get much more Southern than New Orleans, Lucien told me."

Lucien… the Thief girl's older brother, right.

"Dat's true, but I don' like her."

"Why not? She likes you."

"She finds me amusin'. I t'ink she's arrogan' an' selfish an' not near as talented as she t'inks she is."

James chuckled. "Alright, mate, you've made your point. How was your holiday?"

"Long," he replied truthfully. "Never t'ought I'd say dis, but I'm glad t' be back. What about yours?"

"It was awesome, my Uncle Pietro tried to talk to my mum, but Mum blasted him out of the house when he tried to talk Saya and Timmi into joining the Brotherhood. Granddad visited and we all went out to dinner for New Year's. That's where we ran into Monica's family. They were there to see her older brother Warren, you know."

"Is dat where she agreed ta go out wit' y'?"

James grinned. "Yup."

Vincent smiled at his friend. "F_élicitations, mon ami."_

"Thanks. Shall we go down? Luke was talking about watching the G.I. Joe movie this afternoon."

* * *

Dinner that night was even more informal than usual, with most of the students still tired from their flights but eager to talk about their holidays. Dinner consisted of several huge mac and cheese casseroles with vegetable alternatives for those who were lactose intolerant. Then there was a huge plate of cookies courtesy of Graziella, Saya, Sayuri and the youngest Thief girl.

Vincent leaned back in his chair as he chewed a cookie and talked to Sage's boyfriend, the huge man Bishop.

"Actually I was sent here to act as a liaison between the X-Men and SHIELD."

"Really? Dat's pretty cool, why'd SHIELD wan' someone 'tween us an' dem?"

Bishop shrugged and took a healthy swig from his beer bottle. "There's been some talk about someone planning to try and break out the prisoners and since you guys seem to have the most to lose if they do get out, the higher-ups stuck me here."

The young Assassin nodded and took another cookie. He was swallowing a mouthful when he noticed the guy giving him an extremely piercing look. "What?"

Dark eyes looked him over fiercely. "You look like someone I saw once. A sniper… what was his name? How old are you?"

He abruptly put the cookie down. "Y' knew _mon pere_?"

"Your age?"

"Be seventeen in March."

Bishop sat back. "Oh. The guy I was thinking about had to have died twenty years ago – though with that freakshow it's hard to be absolutely certain. What was your dad's name?"

"His name was Lazare Mercier. He died 'foh I was born." He shot a dirty at the Thief girl who was talking brightly to that idiot Denzel.

The older man leaned forward to see what he was staring at. "Old girlfriend?"

"Non! Jus' an idiot girl who lives here."

Bishop nodded. "Noelle LeBeau, isn't it? I know her parents. Good people for the most part – both crazy, though. And her dad can be a pain in the ass."

* * *

Noelle set her Spanish ivy in a better position so that it would be better placed to catch the next morning's sunlight. She had finished putting her kids to bed, said good night to everyone and changed into her pajamas.

"How was your Christmas?" Sarah asked, typing fiercely away at her laptop.

She picked up her newest journal, this one a lovely leather piece covered in a pattern of Italian words and patterns, and settled herself onto her bed. "Monsieur Santa Claus was very kind dis year. But it was _très ennuyeuse_."

"It was what?" her friend's slender tanned fingers faltered in their steady pounding.

Chuckling, the older girl grabbed her pen and started scribbling. "Means it was pretty borin'. Well, New Year's was interestin'."

"What happened?"

"Two drag queens started sluggin' it out five minutes 'foh midnahght."

At this Sarah stopped typing completely. "What?!"

The scratching of the ballpoint pen did not slow. "I tell y' da story _a demain_."

A sharp taste of frustration and disappointment drifted through the air.

"First t'ing in da mornin' I'll tell y'."

"I will hold you to that."

"When have Ah eveh broken mah word ta y'?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Shut up and go ta sleep."

* * *

"Alrighty, Doc! Here's the blood you wanted. I'm gonna go break into a top secret facility now!"

"Yes, Mr. Wilson. Go and enjoy yourself."

"Whoo-hoo!"

**What do you think? REVIEW!!!**

_**D'accord mon amie**_** – "Okay my friend"**

_**petit**__**ami**_**– "boyfriend"**

_**Je suis Noelle. Enchante**_** – "I'm Noelle. ****Nice to meet you."**

_**une fille – **_**"a girl"**

**F**_**élicitations, mon ami.**_** – "Congratulations, my friend"**

_**a demain**_** – "tomorrow"**


	32. Chapter 32

**Here's the next chapter! Enjoy!!!**

Chapter 31

Sofya hummed as she suited up in her brand new, Tony Stark-issued customized X-men uniform, a black set of pants and thick belt with an X-shaped buckle, black combat boots, and a black tanktop covered with a red vest with carbon titanium clasps at the front. She ran her hands nervously up and down her hips. This was the first Danger Room excursion in her new uniform – she was a bit anxious.

A low whistle effectively distracted her.

"Whoo-hoo!" Kelsey Crisp – the daughter of Ray "Berserker" Crisp and Tabitha "Boom Boom" Smith – whistled again, blue eyes merry and mischievous as always. "Sofya! You look sexy! WHOO-HOO!"

She flushed darkly and a bit of temper crept into her voice. "Be quiet, Kelsey."

"Did Tony realize when he made your uniform that it matched Luke's? Of course, he made Luke a new uniform so maybe he knows how tight you two are getting!"

Contrary to what many in the Institute thought, Sofy Rasputin did not have an endless supply of patience (as her boyfriend was perfectly and contentedly aware of) and Kelsey was swiftly eating up her limited store. "How 'tight' we are getting is none of your business."

But the other girl wasn't giving up. Wrinkling her button nose, Kelsey leaned close. "Oh, come on Sofy! You are dating one of the hottest guys on the East Coast! Dish!"

Cheeks now the color of her uniform, the Russian girl was just about to tear into the inquisitive teen when several voices piped up around her.

"Like, come on, Kels, she doesn't want to talk about it!"

"Whoa dere, sug. Y' wan' talk about hot guys y' gotta get one f' y'self."

Julia and Noelle had arrived. Her heroes.

Noelle grinned up at her. "Y' look _très belle, mon amie_. Ready ta go 'foh Wolverine starts climbin' da walls?"

And before I hit Kelsey, Sofy added silently. Out loud she only said, "Yes, thank you, Noelle. Julia."

The two girls firmly grasped her arms and marched the young woman away. As soon as they had left the girls' locker room, Noelle released her grip and fell into her lazy, graceful stride.

"Phew! Foh a second dere Sofy, Ah t'ought y' was gon' hit her."

"Like, so did I!" Julia gasped, still holding Sofy's arm.

"As did I. It seems I have more of a temper than people here seem to think," she said wryly.

Noelle laughed lightly. "Ah'm perfectly aware o' y' temper, _mon amie_. I seen _mon frère_'s bruises."

"Bruises?" Julia whispered staring from one girl to the other. "Sofy, you hit Luke?"

"Not anyt'in' he didn' deserve," Noelle said immediately. "Even he admits he deserved it."

"I am quite proud of that punch."

"Y'all talkin' 'bout new ways to tormen' _moi_?" Luke was making his leisurely way over to them, hair tousled as always.

His sister and his girlfriend didn't hesitate. "Yes."

The Cajun turned his eyes dramatically up to the ceiling. "_Mon Dieu_ y' hearin' dese two lovely femmes plottin' mah destruction?"

Her boyfriend's antics always made her laugh. "You are so foolish."

"Mama dropped him on his head as _un bébé_. Dat accounts foh' onleh a quarter o' his stupidity – da rest comes from him."

Luke expertly snatched his two tormenters' hands and bent over them. He kissed the back of both – noticeably lingering over Sofy's.

She blushed in delight.

"Cajun! Stop moonin' over Tank and get movin'!"

Ahh… the sedate tones of Wolverine at five thirty in the morning… Sofy scowled at the mention of her Wolverine-issued nickname. What kind of a name was 'Tank' for anyone? Especially for someone as skinny as herself?

In less than five minutes, the young woman found herself paired up with the handsome Vincent Boudreaux, who had nodded courteously to her and said, "Call meh Sniper."

She had responded with her codename: "Shieldmaiden."

Around them the others were greeting their partners: Cicero with Bijou, Atlas with Kestrel, Backlash with Sprite (Alana Wagner) and on and on.

"Quiet!" Wolverine barked, standing before them all like a general about to give out his orders. "Alright, the name of the game this morning is Team Sparring! You, you, you, and you – I wasn't pointing at you Matches, get back to your partner! – come to my right! The rest of you to my left!

"In a second the walls're comin' up and you'll be randomly paired up with another pair! You'll fight until one team is unable to continue! The winning teams won't have to scrub out the Danger Room this week!"

Sofy took a deep breath and traded a nervous look with Luke who gave her his wicked smile. She straightened up, feeling braver. Closing her eyes, she let go of Sofya and embraced Shieldmaiden.

Abruptly, walls rose from the floor, trapping both her and Sniper inside. The floor moved and she could hear the cries of shock of the others as they were all put into position.

"Get ready," Sniper muttered.

She clenched her fists and tried to remember everything she had learned in the past few months. Ever since she had been rescued from that horrible place, she had wanted to become an X-man and fight the people who had tortured her and killed that nameless little Inuit girl. Whenever she passed the memorial garden and saw the rose bushes and angel statue devoted to the poor child, a hot fury had filled her and made it impossible for her to just quietly go through high school and pretend to be normal. And just about everyone in the Institute was ready to support her decision whole heartedly, offering tips and advice and even to help her train.

Getting her uniform had just been icing on the cake.

And then the walls came down, revealing Wildcat and Blayze.

"Top o' the mornin' to ya, mate!" Blayze/James shouted cheerfully as his partner darted forward.

"I will take Blayze," Shieldmaiden said, staring at the flames now dancing around the young man.

"Guess, I take Wildcat, den," Sniper grunted, catching the bone claws going for his chest.

* * *

Noelle scowled darkly at the wayward antics of the rebelling coffee machine. "Damn it."

"Problems?" Denzel asked, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

She gave him a lazy look over her shoulder. "Dis coffee pot's down on its last legs. Gon' need a funeral soon."

"Don't funerals make you wanna…" he arched a suggestive eyebrow.

A slender eyebrow arched coolly, mirroring his. "Wan' what?"

"You know…"

The eyebrow went even higher. "Spell it out foh meh."

"We've been dating for a while now and I thought maybe it was time to… you know… take the next step?"

"Y' t'ink dat a month o' datin' merits _moi_ hoppin' inta bed wit'cha?" Any of her siblings or friends could have told her boyfriend that now was a very good time to watch his tongue.

But he had not been dating her or known her long enough to know that – or maybe he just didn't care.

"Well… yeah… I mean… don't you think we're ready?"

She stretched out with her powers and felt around. There was a strong feeling of longing hovering around her boyfriend's heart, some hope, a little sprig of growing disappointment, and a small spike of lust.

"Ah don' know if y' ready," she said at last. "But Ah ain', _d'accord_?"

He didn't push the issue, though she noted a rather worrying seed of resentment and anger. That was never a good sign.

* * *

Vincent watched with growing concern as his AP US History teacher Mr. Cox paced in front of the chalkboard. In one hand, the teacher clutched a stack of tests and in the other a bottle of something that could be water or… something else.

"Less than five months!" the short man suddenly wailed, throwing his arms up to the ceiling in a paroxysm of horror.

The Thief girl looked caught between concern and amusement. He was just confused as hell.

"Quick!" Mr. Cox pointed at a shrimpy kid in the front row. "Causes of the American Revolution in twenty words or more!"

"UUUHHHH…" was the extremely eloquent answer.

"You! The effects of Puritanism on the formation of the New England colonies!"

"Huh?"

"You! List the major battles of the Civil War!"

"You! Describe the presidency of Theodore Roosevelt!"

And so it went for another fifteen minutes before their teacher calmed down and began the lecture, occasionally randomly pointing to some poor soul and demanding an equally random bit of historical information.

At the end of class, the man passed around the tests – Vincent sighed in relief at his B and scowled darkly at the A gracing the top of the Thief's paper – and a letter explaining the AP tests.

The rest of his classes also seemed to have been taken over by slightly rabid demons in the forms of the teachers who had waved cheerfully at him last year and wished him a Merry Christmas. The AP test crunch had begun.

Even Miss Fiennes was a little frazzled, asking to see his sketches every few minutes and asking if he had decided whether or not to be in the art competition or not – he said yes just to get rid of that slightly manic look in her eye.

* * *

A quick shadow darted across the perimeter of the SHIELD complex, clearing the electric, barbed wire fence, dispatching the guards with silent slashes of a two, mismatched katanas, and bypassing the packs of attack dogs. Despite the bragging of Nick Fury, the mercenary Deadpool had no trouble getting into the facility and assuming the identity of one Lieutenant Leo Murphy.

Even as he finished disposing the body, Deadpool grinned and did a crazy happy dance.

* * *

Noelle was busy.

Enjoyably so.

"Mouse!"

She tilted her head more and ignored the little voice in her head that sounded like Logan.

"Mouse!"

She hummed and ignored the rising growl at her back.

"Dammit, Mouse! Stop suckin' face with Washington and get your ass over here!"

Sighing, she drew away from her boyfriend, gave him another kiss and got up to deal with the fuming Wolverine. "_Ouais_, Wolvie?"

"While you're down here making eyes at Washington over there, your kids're wrecking the library."

Noelle tugged her shirt on straight, rolling her eyes. "Ah lef' Sarah an' Monica in charge o' _mes petites_. Dey'll keep 'em from burnin' da house down."

"Squirt's with her mom and Goldilocks left with Matches."

Now he had her undivided attention. "Dey lef' mah kids alone?"

A mirthless smile stretched across the older man's face. "No. The Crisp girls and Sparkles are with them."

She blanched. "Kelsey, Lucy and Julia."

"Yup."

She nearly ran him over as she left the Left Rotunda at a run, dodged around Saya who was happily juggling fire balls, and pushed past Vincent and James, both of whom were laughing and egging the girl on.

Denzel was just going to have to wait.

* * *

Vincent snarled as the Thief girl shoved herself past his shoulder and sprinted away down the hall. "Wha's wrong wit' da T'ief?"

"Noelle?" called a disappointed voice from an armchair. It seemed Denzel Hawkins had been in the middle of something with his – Vincent's lip curled in disgust – _girlfriend_. "Where's she going?"

"To keep the school from burning down," Logan said flatly.

Interest stirred, the Assassin clapped James on the shoulder, grinned at Saya and followed the path the Thief had taken. He quickly lost her, but immediately guessed where she was when a high voice screeched, "NOELLE?!"

Ah, the library. Of course.

He arrived at the dignified room in time to see the herd of young children cowering before the Thief girl who was standing tall and gracefully before them with her arms crossed elegantly. No one was speaking. The chamber around them was in shambles, piles of books had been taken from the shelves to construct what might have been forts and balls of crumpled paper littered the floor. Vincent found himself hoping very much that the papers hadn't been ripped from the books.

"Well?" the Thief girl said quietly.

Vincent was rather forcibly reminded of his mother when she was angry; when Belladonna Boudreaux was just inches from losing her head completely and throwing knives and firing her semi automatic in every direction her voice went very quiet and cold.

"Wha' y'all got ta say f' yahselves?"

A tiny hand went up.

The impassive look on the Thief's face didn't change. "_Oui_? Brianna?"

"We didn't hurt any of the books, Noelle. Honest!"

With a calmness that put one in mind of the calmness before a hurricane ripped off a roof, the Thief girl turned her head and looked pointedly at a balled up bit of paper near her foot.

"Those ain' from books!" piped up a scrawny girl with huge brown eyes and an unmistakable Texan accent. "Those're from the junk piles!"

Eyebrow raised, the young woman picked up the paper ball and smoothed it out. There was a moment of utter silence as she carefully turned the paper over in her hands.

Finally, she crumpled it and tossed it into a nearby waste basket. When next she spoke, the coolness was gone and a playfulness had replaced it. "Alrahght so y' got _moi_ dere. But y'all know dat da library's one o' mah favorite spots, _oui_? So no more o' dis, _d'accord_? If y' mus' destroy somebody's room, start wit' Charlie Summers' room."

"Yes, Noelle," the little ones chanted back to her obediently.

"Now come on, le's get dis place cleaned up."

As the children spread out, picking up the paper and books, their caretaker strode over to where the bouncy blue eyed blonde Kelsey and her carrot haired younger sister Lucy and Julia Alvers were attempting to make themselves invisible by the fireplace.

Vincent listened lazily as the Thief immediately began berating the three girls for allowing her children to run amok. Meanwhile, he noticed one of the boys… what was his name again? The kid was staring at a book and after a long moment, the boy held the tome upside down and squinted.

Chuckling, he went over to the kid and spoke to him. "Wha' y' doin'?"

The boy jumped and spun around, clutching the book to his skinny chest. Vincent noticed that what he was holding more closely resembled a diary than a literary novel.

"Nothing!" came the wholly unconvincing claim.

He let the lie go and took a good look at the boy. He had never really paid much attention to the younger children of the Institute, aside from Fatima whom he was rather fond of. The boy was tall for his age but extremely thin. Black hair stuck up crazily from his head in tight curls and big black eyes glowed in his face.

"Wha's y' name? _Je m'appelle Vincent_."

"I know who you are!" growled the kid in a rather pathetic attempt to sound tougher than he was. Vincent took note of a strange accent that most definitely wasn't Southern.

"But I don' know who you are, mon ami."

"Name's Tony."

"Tony!" the Thief girl suddenly shouted. "Y' ain' excused from dis! Get ta work!"

The boy called back an affirmative, tucked the book under his shirt, gave Vincent a fierce glare and darted off.

* * *

The Great White Fleet…

Upton Sinclair…

William H. Taft…

How much could one person be expected to remember? His head was close to bursting as it was and he still had half a chapter left to read.

As Vincent turned a page, he made a mental note to never take another AP class ever again. And he never would, he reminded himself; learning wasn't exactly a must for an Assassin.

Finishing off his notes about union workers in Chicago, he was abruptly distracted by someone pulling at his shirt. It was the boy Tony, now in Batman pajamas and looking very unhappy and reluctant. "_Salut, mon ami._"

Tony shuffled his feet. "Hi."

The silence that followed was not the most comfortable of silences; both of the two males quickly became rather unceasy as each waited for the other to say something.

Finally, Vincent asked, "Did'y' wan' somet'in, Tony?"

There was another long silence, broken at last as Tony pulled out the leather book from under his shirt and offered it to the older boy. "Can you read this?"

Setting down his history book, Vincent took the smaller tome and randomly flipped it open. His eyebrows immediately came up. Beautiful, slanted handwriting curved its way along the page in flawless cursive. And furthermore, every word was in French.

"Oh la la!" he murmured, flipping through the book. There were occasionally places where ink blots scratched out the dainty, yet bold words to replace them with others. There were very rough sketches – who ever had written this was not an artist – and scraps of paper and pictures were taped on the pages and the same handwriting was around them like a frame of vines.

"What's it say?"

Vincent jumped; he had almost forgotten about Tony. "Hold on." He went to the front of the book and began reading aloud.

"'Dis is my firs' time travelin' alone wit' Jean-Luc – Mama an' Daddy weren' too happy 'bout it but I'm fifteen an' I wan' finish wit' my trainin'. If all goes well I be da firs' Lady T'ief, no, da only _T'ief_ ta get dere Master's Mark 'foh dere seventeen in two hun'erd years.'"

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh _hell_ no.

"Tony. Who's dis belong to?"

"Miss Noelle. But she left it in the library an' ain't been back ta get it. She's got a new one now, anyways."

He snapped the Thief girl's diary closed and glared at the kid. "Y' ain' s'pposed t' be readin' somebody's diary!"

"But you don't even like Noelle!"

"Don' matter. Shouldn' do it."

Tony scowled darkly at him and tried to take the book back.

Vincent immediately jerked it out of the boy's reach. "Don' t'ink so. Go ta bed."

The boy gave him a poisonous look and stomped away.

To his credit, Vincent firmly set the leather covered diary to one side and tried to go back to his textbook but the presence of the small brown book kept distracting him. He could pick it up – get a better idea of the person he was hunting. He didn't know much about her after all – didn't know her hobbies or what she really loved…

But he didn't need to know all of that. He just needed to kill her and leave.

Well… maybe not leave – dammit, if only there was a way to kill them and not leave here! It was nice to pretend he was normal and worry about the everyday crap like homework and whether or not he should take the AP exams… His eyes strayed away to the diary.

He cursed aloud, slammed his textbook closed and hid the journal behind some very old, dusty looking dictionaries.

There, out of sight, out of mind.

He left the library.

His mood was not improved when he found the Thief girl and her boyfriend making out on the stairs. He snarled as the Thief tilted her head and allowed Denzel to slant his mouth over hers.

What did he care about any of this, anyway?

It wasn't really his home – that was New Orleans. Where his mother was waiting for him to get back so she could send him out to kill more Thieves.

Why was it always him?

Why did he have to do this?

It wasn't fair… wasn't fair!

Why did he have to feel this way?

* * *

The sharp feeling of anger, hostility, and what felt suspiciously like… jealousy?... effectively distracted Noelle's concentration in thoroughly kissing Denzel senseless. Something hard and warm shoved past her, sending her stumbling into Denzel's chest. She turned to see Vincent storming up the stairs with all the grace and silence of a wrecking ball. He was going to wake her kids.

Sighing, she pushed herself away from her boyfriend. "_Désole_, Denzel – gotta make sho' da idiot don' wake _mes petites_."

Denzel's face fell and she felt both disappointment and jealousy. Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, she reached out and stroked a hand against his slightly stubbly cheek. "Go shave, _mon amour_."

Then it was up the stairs to catch up to the Assassin going down the upstairs hallway like a disgruntled elephant. She walked along behind him, dead silent in her bare feet and spoke, "Dey a reason why y' so pissed?"

Vincent, jumped spun around to face her, then growled. "Ain' pissed."

"Sho' y' are. Ah c'n tell, _souviens_?" She cocked her head. "So y' gon' calm down y'self o' should Ah do it?"

His face twisted and he struggled with himself for a moment before spitting out, "Fine. _D'accord. Ça me va!_"

He spread his arms out as though to give her a better target.

Noelle blinked in confusion – this wasn't like Vincent at all. Something seriously must have pissed him off if he was willfully agreeing to accept help from her, especially when it involved the powers he so distrusted. "Alrahght, don' move an' look _moi_ in da eye."

He glared at her and she reached out. His emotions were an insane tangle of fury, frustration, confusion, longing, jealousy, and anger, anger, _anger_. It took her a moment to remember which emotions were hers and steady herself enough to try and help him. "Y' wan' long-term o' short-term?"

"Don' care. Jus' do somet'in'!"

Judging by the wild look in his eye, it would be better for everyone if she did something long term. "_D'accord_. Heah we go."

**Another chapter done... **

**Don't expect another one til my Beta Reader comes out of hiding!**

_**Ouais**_**– "Yeah"**

_**Je m'appelle Vincent.**_**– "My name is Vincent."**

_**Salut, mon ami. **_**– "Hey, my friend."**

_**Souviens – **_**"Remember"**

_**D'accord. Ça me va!**_** – "Okay. Fine with me****!"**


	33. Chapter 33

**Oh yeah!!!! Super Bowl 44 and the Saints win! There shall be dancing and drinking in New Orleans tonight!!!!**

**Party!!!!!!!**

**Gotta go!**

**Oh yeah, Review!**

Chapter 32

Vincent woke up in his bed, feeling strangely warm and contented. He had a vague memory of the Thief girl standing in front of him, her grey-green eyes bright and soft. That should have made him angry and worried but he remained calm and didn't get the slightest bit upset.

The strange feelings of happiness continued through the following weeks and suddenly it was February. Super Bowl Sunday was spent with him and the Thieves joining forces to howl at the Saints' Drew Brees and curse wildly at Peyton Manning of the Colts.

At the end of the game when the announcers roared, "THE NEW ORLEANS SAINTS HAVE WON THE SUPER BOWL! THEIR FIRST SUPER BOWL APPEARANCE AND THEY WIN THE TITLE!" Vincent's haze vanished when he suddenly found himself spinning the Thief girl around and listening to her scream, "_Nous avons gagné! Nous avons gagné!_"

The feeling of her fierce, triumphant hug and her brother pounding him on the back as Coach Sean Peyton had Gatorade dumped on him and the announcer screamed, "The Saints have won! The title goes to the Crescent City!!" snapped him back to reality. The good feelings were gone, replaced by a nasty feeling in his gut telling him he hadn't been with a girl in months.

And just like that he was back to normal.

Birthdays were celebrated and a schedule was set up to shovel the driveway clean. At school the teachers were now attempting to go even faster; Mr. Cox did impressions of WWI German soldiers bayoneting innocent nuns, babies, and bunnies, periodically howling out loud in a bad Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation, Mr. Baker spent classes scribbling equations madly on the board and explaining how they were used, Madame Rousseau was galloping through the French conditional tenses, Mr. Curry was explaining electron shapes (Vincent didn't get it) and giving daily pop quizzes (which he was failing), and Ms. Rosebury was forcing them to write weekly papers on _The Color Purple_.

It seemed that the only place of calmness was Art but even that was falling away as Miss Fiennes worried over the upcoming Art Competition. Vincent spent most of those classes flipping through the books on the shelves, staring at the pictures of sculptures and paintings of goddesses or studying books of mythology, trying to get some inspiration. His sketches of Miss Ororo as a goddess had been good, but not nearly what he wanted to use as is entry.

It was a week before Valentine's Day and he could practically feel the hormones rising around him. Alana Wagner and Charlie Summers (or Golden Boy as the Thief girl called him) were usually found to be snuggled up in some corner when there was nothing big and important to be done. The Thief boy and Sofy had developed a habit of disappearing for several hours and then reappearing looking either rather smug or slightly dazed. Monica and James studied together, constantly arguing and making up – Vincent wished they would just get together and have done with it, instead of just going out 'as friends'. Alexei was flushing darkly every time Julia came close and kept starting to ask her something but choke halfway through. The Thief girl and Denzel could be seen making out almost every day – something that never failed to annoy him for some reason (and it w_asn't _because he was jealous, because he wasn't).

He was muttering over the battles, dates, and people of WWI and prowling through the shelves, looking for a book on the Battle of Somme when he walked straight into the Thief girl. The huge book she was carrying knocked hard into his chest and he grunted as his breath was all forced out of him. Stepping apart, she lost hold of the book and it hit the ground with such a solid _thunk_ that it made the Assassin very happy that it hadn't landed on his foot.

"_Désolée_, Vincent," she said, sounding distracted.

Vincent, however, was more interested in the book. To be more specific, the page it had fallen open to.

There in a photograph that took up half the page was the statue of a headless woman with wings instead of arms striding forward and her chest thrust out as though she was getting ready to throw herself off her pedestal and fly away.

The customary, "Watch where y' goin', T'ief," tumbled from his lips automatically and he hurried back to his chair, the sought history book forgotten.

In just a few moments, he had snatched up his sketch book from his backpack and made the swift outline of the statue in a few lines.

This was it.

This was what he had been looking for.

He knew it – the problem now was simply deciding how to express it.

* * *

Sinister hmmed.

Then hmmed again because there was no Deadpool to chatter nor any Sabretooth to growl or pace.

Nothing really interesting here, but every power, no matter how mundane or commonplace, should be carefully studied and documented for further use.

Vincent Julian Boudreaux – codenamed Sniper – received his own folder and the identification number of 3697B. His powers were carefully written out: the ability to create gravitational forces between the molecules of differing objects to the extent that the object he touched was irresistibly drawn to the other (this power had been developed into a murderous capability through his Assassin training) and the unmapped potential of his healing ability. According to Deadpool's information – surprisingly professionally gathered – he had shot the young man in question several times, each time with the intent to kill, and the young man had somehow survived each time. 9697B also possessed incredible reflexes – beyond anything that a sixteen year old boy should have, even with the intensive training involved in being the heir of the New Orleans Assassins Guild.

Everything was carefully written and placed in the file and then painstakingly typed and stored in Sinister's specially customized laptop.

That finished, the scientist closed his computer and rechecked the folder to file it away. Something he hadn't noticed gave him pause. That chromosomal DNA pattern looked familiar…

But that did not make sense, his birth certificate (acquired from the Louisiana State Registry) stated that his parents were Belladonna Boudreaux and Lazare Mercier. Both human – not a species Sinister was particularly interested in.

And he had seen that pattern before.

Long, long, experience had taught him a very simple and dependable truth: People lied. Data didn't.

He took out a magnifying glass and pulled out the first of his records. Computers could make a mistake in the lab – he never did. And, making sure that his desk lamp was properly positioned, Mr. Sinister got to work.

* * *

Noelle snapped the book _Ribsy_ closed after two chapters and stood up, much to the unhappiness of her children.

"No fair!"

"Jus' one more chapter, Noelle!"

"Yeah just one more!"

"Please?"

"Pretty please?"

"With cherries and sprinkles on top?"

A negligent wave of a hand cut off the complaints instantly. "I's alreadeh ten minutes afteh y'all's bedtahme. Git yo' butts ta bed."

Swarms of skinny arms threw themselves around her knees and hips.

"Good night, Noelle!"

"Nigh-nigh!"

She smiled and knelt, giving hugs and hair tousles where necessary before shooing them all off to bed. Allison, Fatima, Brianna and Dawn needed special attention but soon all her kids were asleep and she could get back to her mounting pile of homework, chief among them her Italian translation.

However, her pencil had barely touched paper when a soft knock sounded at her door. Sarah looked up from where she was typing wildly on her laptop, "It is your boyfriend."

Sighing deeply, Noelle got up and went to greet a grinning Denzel. "'Lo, Denzel. _Ça va_?"

"_Ça va_. Listen, you want to go out tonight? Night's still young, we could catch a movie… maybe break down somewhere…" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

The Cajun had to fight not to roll her eyes. She enjoyed kissing and carrying on as much as the next girl but there was the little matter of school tomorrow; it was annoying how Denzel never seemed to take that into account. "Cain'. Got enough homework to send _moi_ ta a convent fo' da nex' hun'erd o' so years."

He looked disappointed before falling back into his flirtatious setting. "Come on, Noelle, just for a few hours?"

She flicked her bangs out of her face. "Ah been out wit' y' da las' week. Ah'm fallin' behind an' Ah know you are too. We do it again some ot'er tahme, _d'accord_?"

"But what about if I get you back here before –"

"No, Denzel. Good nahght."

The door closed in his face.

"Trouble in paradise?" Sarah asked sarcastically.

"When a lady says no it means no – 'specially when i's about sex."

There was a long moment of silence in which Sarah watched as her roommate flopped onto her bed and began hastily scratching out her translation in her gracefully messy cursive.

Finally, and with an intense rush, the younger girl blurted out, "It's romantic to ask someone out on Valentine's Day, right?"

The pencil skating across the Italian translation stopped abruptly, then fell as though it had been shot. "_Quoi?_"

But Sarah wasn't finished. "It doesn't take away from it if a girl asks a boy, right?"

Noelle looked up very slowly and got this very slow, very wickedly smug smirk across her lovely face. Sarah's cheeks turned tomato red.

"Who is it, _mon amie_? Ah know it ain' Vass 'cause y' kicked his ass dis mornin'. It ain' Raj o'… i's Jayden."

Tomato red gave way to maroon and Noelle had to bite her lip to keep herself from howling with laughter. "Jayden, _petite_?"

"What is wrong with him?" Sarah demanded sharply. "He is aesthetically pleasing and very nice to be around when he is not afraid of me. My parents both think he is a good student and coming along well in training and-"

"Whoa dere, _chère_! Ah ain' gon' knock yo' _petit ami_, jus' surprised is all. Y' realleh lahke him?"

Dark brown hair past an unhappy bowed little head. "I don't know. I think so. I have never felt this way."

"So how d' y' know dat y' lahke him?"

Slender tanned hands began to twist themselves together, as though hoping to create a knot of fingers. "The feelings I get around him are much like those Mommy described when she began to date Dad."

"Lemme take a look." She closed her eyes and felt Sarah's emotions wash over her. It took less than a second to sort through it all. "Oh, sug, y' got it bad."

The smaller girl pushed aside her computer and buried her face into her drawn up knees. "How could this have happened? I don't want to feel this way – he is my friend!"

Sighing, Noelle left her bed and sat beside her distraught friend. Putting an arm around the drooping shoulders, she said comfortingly. "Lis'en sug, no one eveh plans ta fall in love. No one gets ta choose who dey gon' love – ask mah mama an' yo's. All y' c'n decahde is what y' gon' do about it. So y' gon' ask him out?"

"No. I will ignore this. This has to go away eventually if I just wait!"

Noelle had to resist the urge to strangle her.

* * *

Denzel stomped down the halls. Again.

She had said no again!

He had been crushing on her for weeks and now that he was finally ready to see if Southerners were as good in bed as it was rumored, she had said no. This was what boyfriends and girlfriends did! Why couldn't she just do this for him?

It wasn't like it would really mean anything. It was just sex.

She owed it to him, really. How many dates had she had before him?

None, that's how many.

She should be grateful – willing to give him just one good tumble.

But no.

Stupid bitch.

He'd show her.

* * *

Sofya clutched her bag to her chest. She couldn't believe this. Things like this were not supposed to happen…

At least, not to people like Noelle. People like Noelle were supposed to lead perfect charmed lives… meet a handsome prince and live happily ever after in a castle far far away.

I was like Noelle once, she reminded herself with a brush at the single slash mark scar that marred the inside of her right wrist. And everything I was they shattered but now I am stronger. Noelle is strong; she will know what to do.

But God! How she didn't want to be the one to have to tell her friend this! But if their places had been reversed… _Enough. I must tell her._

Squaring her slender shoulders, she went to the kitchens where the Cajun she had been musing over was directing the traffic of about a dozen children each trying to snatch a cookie for him or herself.

"Noelle?"

Noelle paused in the middle of dragging Jacob Alvers away from a handful of cookies. "Bonjour Sofy. Hope y' don' wan' a cookie – dey didn' las' five minutes wit' mes petites here."

"I need to speak to you."

The tone of her voice obviously alerted the other young woman that something wrong – or perhaps it was her empathic powers. Whatever it was, she nodded.

"Alrahght, _mes petites_, now all o' y'all go inta da Rec Room an' get ta watchin' Spongebob. Ah be dere in a second."

The herd of children made their way out, some already starting up the annoying 'Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?...'

"Wha's wrong, Sofy?" asked the other girl, leaning towards her over the counter. Her grey-green eyes were kind and soft.

She blurted it all out at once, hoping it would be like ripping a band-aid off. "Denzel is cheating on you."

For one solid moment she felt what seemed like a tidal wave hit her. It wasn't of power or energy, but feelings… emotions. Sofy felt hurt, rage, confusion and several other things she couldn't identify overwhelm her. She couldn't tell what was hers and what wasn't…

And then it was over. She was Sofy again and she was alone in a kitchen with her boyfriend's younger sister, telling her that her boyfriend was sleeping with someone else.

"Are y' sho'?"

She nodded. "I heard him speaking of how he chose a cheerleader known for her… looseness… and had sex with her because you wouldn't."

Noelle's face had gone absolutely still. There was not a trace of any emotion on her face but shock.

After an eternity, Sofy managed to ask, "Are you alright, Noelle?" She then had to fight to keep herself from slapping herself for asking such a stupid question.

"Yes." Her voice sounded both brittle and calm. "T'ank y' fo' tellin' meh, Sofy. Kindly don' tell anybody 'bout dis 'til Ah've spoken wit' Denzel – dat includes Lucien. Denzel ain' gettin' back from his college interviews 'til Sunday so can y' keep dis under wraps 'til den?"

"Of course Noelle."

"And Sofy?"

"Yes, my friend?"

"T'ank y'."

"For what?"

"Fo' making _mon frère_ mo' happy den Ah am."

"Noelle?"

"Yeah?"

"I am so very sorry."

"So am Ah. But dat bastard's gon' be sorrier."

**That bastard. If you would like to bash Denzel, now would be the best time to do it because it only gets worse from here.**

**Review!!**

_**Nous avons gagné! **__**Nous avons gagné!**_** – "We won! We won!"**

_**Ça va ? – **_**"How're you doing?"**

_**Ca va**_** – "I'm okay."**

_**petit ami**_** – "boyfriend"**


	34. Chapter 34

**Hiya, everyone! Singles Awareness Day is looming down upon us and in honor of the occassion:**

**PS: I would absolutely LOVE IT if someone could try and draw my characters - so if you do try it and upload it PUH-LEASE send me a link so I can see it.**

**Now, without further ado:**

Chapter 33

Vincent awoke on Valentine's Day to the smell of chocolate chip pancakes. Due to the fact that the lovers' day had fallen on a Sunday, he did not have to rush to pull his butt out of bed, just stick it out very slowly and lazily.

When he finally did make it downstairs at around noon, he found a small pile of heart shaped pancakes waiting for him in the kitchen. Well, not just for him – he could also see Kelsey come staggering in with her blond hair a nest on her head.

The rest of the students were off either enjoying the snow or hanging around making sweet eyes at their significant other. Vincent just wanted to go back to sleep.

But he couldn't. For the past four days he had been drawing the same figure with her chest outthrust and her arms thrown back – but her head missing. He knew this was what he wanted, but he wasn't sure in which direction to take it.

Now fully clothed, he settled down into a secluded corner of the entrance hall (suspiciously empty) and began his sketches again. It wasn't that he wasn't drawing this correctly – he knew he was… but he also knew there was something missing. Besides her head – was that it?

So he tried sketching the right kind of face for a winged goddess. His mother's face didn't fit – too sharp and predatorlike. He went through the other girls in the Institute, putting their heads and faces on lean winged bodies but nothing fit. Even Monica Worthington, whose brother had huge powerful golden wings, didn't make much of a flying goddess. Even little Sayuri with her black wings was too young and small. Miss Ororo fit more with his idea but there was something flat about her… not enough joy and wildness in that dignified beautiful face.

Somewhere between his seventh and tenth failure, he dozed off…

_His feet were in agony as he followed the girl down a street to a traditional French Quarter style house. She opened the iron gate for him and beckoned with a skinny arm. "Don' be afraid, _mon ami. _Dis where da fun starts."_

Wait_, he thought in confusion even as his feet carried him forward. _Dis neveh happened!

_It was like passing into another world – one second he was in the sunny streets of New Orleans as a kid and the next a teenaged himself was marching down a broad cobble stone road leading hundreds of soldiers. All of whom looked very familiar. There was Alexei and the Thief boy on his left, Charles, James and Jayden on his right and they were all holding up great white flags with different colored animals embroidered on them. Charles' had a black bird, James' had a golden woman, Jayden a slender silver hunting cat, the Thief boy's a red shield and Alexei's a blue flower. He glanced up to look up at the banner he was holding and stared at a bronze colored hunting bird._

_The road they were marching along was lined with cheering crowds who were throwing flowers and bits of light, brightly colored cloth into the air as they passed. Crowds were hanging out of the windows waving and children were running ahead of them laughing and even dancing in the street._

_Vincent grinned and lifted his banner higher. _

_This alerted him to a strange weight on his arms; further examination showed that he was dressed in a strange suit of armor with the hunting bird crest on his chest and the others around him were also dressed in similar outfits, though with the different symbols on their chests. _

_They marched through the streets to a great white marble palace that looked something like the Greek Parthenon. It sat on a huge hill and was connected to the rest of the city by a steep set of stairs. Standing by the steps in black armor was none other than Wolverine. Vincent wanted to ask him what was going on but he couldn't speak and Wolverine didn't look in the mood for idle chitchat. _

"_Have you completed your tasks?" the short man demanded._

"_Yes," he said immediately. He spoke in complete unison with the others bearing banners; it was kind of creepy._

"_Have you come to swear yourselves to your goddesses?"_

"_Yes." Again with the unison._

"_Then approach." With that, Wolverine turned his back on them and began to march up the steps. _

_Vincent started up the steps, still carrying his banner, and in no time at all reached the summit of the hill where they stood at the base of the three steps that led into the pillars of the palace. Waiting for them were three of the most beautiful women he had ever seen._

_The one in the middle was a tall redhead with the biggest emerald green eyes he had ever seen. She had a figure to die for and looked like something that any artist would die to portray and then despair because their works never came out right. The one on the left he recognized immediately as Miss Ororo – this must have been what she looked like when the people had worshipped her and treated her as a goddess. Then on the right was a tall woman who was a dead ringer for the youngest Thief girl, right down to her fair skin and the white stripe through her dark reddish-auburn hair. _

_Each of them was dressed in robes – the redhead in gold, Miss Ororo in deep blue, and the Thief girl look-a-like in forest green – complimented with gold and silver jewelry and gems. _

"_Are these the champions?" the redhead intoned. _

"_Yes," Wolverine said, bowing his head._

_Miss Ororo waved a hand. "Champions, enter with me."_

_The white-striped woman looked into the darkness of the temple before them. "Now's the tahme y'all swear yourselves to the maidens."_

_Okay, this was getting really weird. He tried to say something again – tell them there was some mistake and he had no intention of swearing himself to anyone – but his tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth and he walked forward to follow Miss Ororo._

_The inside of the palace was cool after the bright sun of outside and seemed so shady as to be otherworldly. The first room she led them into was enormous and boasted the biggest fountain he had ever seen in the center of the room. The creation stood roughly thirty feet tall with six neat pedestals set just at his eyelevel as water jetted out of every conceivable opening. _

_It took a moment for him to realize that the statues on each pedestal were actually six young women, all of varying shapes and sizes._

_He and the others marched around the fountain and each came to a halt in front of a different pedestal and looked up expectantly. _

_And saw the young woman the little girl had grown into. She strode off her pedestal and flared her wings to glide down to him. Her long thick hair fell down her back in one solid wave of reddish-brownish-golden copper. Her robe was so white it gleamed in the soft grey shadows and floated around her like seafoam. Slender arms spread out gracefully as she landed smoothly._

_It was…_

_Crash_

His eyes snapped open to see a solid chunk of stone flying through the air and crashing into the entrance hall, about thirty feet away from him.

Vincent stood as the rock moved and straightened itself up, revealing itself to be a strange grey-ish version of the Thing from the Fantastic Four. It didn't take much to recognize this creature: Denzel "Stone" Hawkins with the ability to turn his body into organic stone.

"Well what the hell were you expecting?!" he howled. "That I was just gonna wait until you were ready?! Guess what, babe, that's not the way the world works. When a guy needs some action he ain't just gonna wait around for his girl to be in the mood!"

Completely baffled by all the yelling, Vincent whipped his head up toward the stairs and gaped as the Thief girl leapt from the top of the stairs and floated gracefully down. His mind immediately went to the beautiful young woman he had dreamed of.

The Thief's face was a study of cold anger and her eyes were the same vicious emerald-silver he had seen when he had tried to kill her. She looked like a Lady Assassin.

His gut clenched and he belatedly realized that half the Institute was standing around them, including several of the teachers.

"Den we got not'in' mo' ta discuss," the Thief girl said calmly. "Now get yo' ass out o' heah."

"I don't gotta go nowhere. This is my house too!"

"Dat was not a request." Faster than an F-22 jet she darted forwards, grabbed the guy, shot twenty feet into the air and faced her boyfriend (or was it ex-boyfriend?). "Fo' da record, Denzel. _Ah_ dumped _you_."

And she hurled him through the front doors.

The entire hallway was deathly quiet as the young woman slowly settled down onto the ground, her face blank. She turned around and walked to the stairs, went up them, and disappeared.

* * *

Noelle lay on her bed, her cell phone vibrating on her desk. It was her mother – Rogue had called eight times and Remy five. _Tante_ was leaving her alone – something she very much appreciated.

She hurt. Really and truly hurt. It was as though her heart was seizing in her chest.

It wasn't that she had really loved Denzel. She had liked him just fine and had been happy to call him her boyfriend. The making out had been very enjoyable – God knew she hadn't done that in a while – and she had liked talking to someone about nothing and everything – and yet nothing important.

Her brother and sister, not to mention most of the staff, had approached her already. Luke, Claire, Logan, Laura, and Ororo had done nothing more than sit on her bed and stay silently for a while. They hadn't tried to talk which she was very happy for. Professor X's visit had been very short and quiet, coming in to tell her that Denzel was not hurt – was she supposed to be happy about this? – and that he was very sorry. Jubilee and several of the other girls had burst in with sobs, sympathy, and curses against all cheating males, offering to do everything from shun the bastard to castrate him.

Then there had been Scott and Charles Summers. They had burst into her room, snarling words like 'reckless' and 'stupid' and 'complete lack of control over yourself'. To which she had responded that she thought she was showing the greatest control in that she had not tossed them bodily from her room.

Her kids had already been in, offering hardy snowdrops and a few early daffodils, under the careful supervision of Storm and Monica. They didn't quite understand what was going on but they were a comfort all the same.

To be honest, she didn't understand what was going on. At the basic level she knew what had happened: her boyfriend Denzel Hawkins, when she had made it clear that she wasn't going to have sex with him, had slept with a cheerleader from Bayville High, but beyond that she couldn't understand…

Noelle went over it in her head.

She had been waiting for Denzel in his room, sitting on his bed. They hadn't parted on the best of circumstances when he had left for his interviews with Storm and he had looked surprised to see her. She had asked him if anything had happened – if there was something that he wanted to tell her. He had said no and asked if she felt ready to try and continue their relationship. There hadn't even been a flicker of guilt anywhere in his psyche and at that she had exploded. She had shoved Sofya's story in his face and watched grimly as anger and not one drop of shame bled into him. His only defense was that she should have known what she was getting into when she had asked him out. But she had _not_ asked him out, she had pointed out angrily. He had asked _her_ out.

A sharp agony of a headache cut through her mental replay and she had to stop and bury her hands in her auburn hair to keep her brain from leaking out of her ears. She could feel her own emotions raging under her skin. She closed her eyes and sorted through them and allowed them to sweep over her thoughts…

Just let it all go…

Something that felt like a rusty nail of dark fury and hatred stabbed into her head. That didn't belong to her – this was Denzel's. Then a matching snarling of anger from Logan, joined by concern and vicious indignation and a desire to rip limbs off from her brother crept into her consciousness to combat the malicious emotions, soothing her nerves.

In the end, Noelle took several aspirin, found her favorite hideaway in the garage and nestled in among the tools, motorcycles and hotrods, allowing the smell of motor oil and slick metal to lull her to sleep.

* * *

Vincent had never known dinner at the Xavier Institute to be so hostile. It seemed that everyone at the table was either openly shunning Denzel or trying to act as though they hadn't chosen sides. The Thief girl was sitting between her brother (who was stabbing his jambalaya as though it had done him a personal injury as he glared at Denzel) and Alexei (who looked about ready to crush a certain guy's skull) eating her food calmly.

"Pass the soda," Denzel said sulkily.

No one moved.

Finally, Charles Summers nudged the bottle half-heartedly to him and Denzel ended up having to stand up and reach for it.

"Now everyone," Professor X said, trying to sound reproving and failing. "I know you are all less than pleased with what happened earlier today, but we must remember that there are two sides to every story-"

"There ain't nothing to talk about!" Denzel snarled abruptly, standing up so fast that he knocked his chair over. "The bitch is just pissed-"

The Thief boy was on his feet and it was obvious that his sister's hand on his arm was the only thing holding him back from diving across the table and attacking.

"Y' betteh watch what y' be sayin' 'bout Noelle, y' piece o' shit."

And then Denzel, in an action of utmost stupidity took a swing at a furious fully guild trained Master Thief. "You and your whore of a sister-"

Everyone jumped up as the Thief filled the idiot's mouth with his fist, knocking him over completely and leaping over the table after him.

Looking around, Vincent was surprised to see the Thief girl with her head in her hands – wasn't this about the time when she was getting up to pry her brother off whoever he was attacking? There was no question of her being able to get him, she was able to fly for God's sake! She should be able to get to one person.

But she didn't move. Her kids were crying, frightened by the fighting and yelling, and she was doing nothing. Just rubbing her temples and breathing very hard.

The teachers were trying to return order and were failing magnificently. Professor X was not looking at the fighting; he seemed more concerned with the Thief girl.

Chaos had erupted in the dining room and it was just getting worse. Vincent had never seen anything like this, not even when the Assassins and Thieves had openly brawled in the streets.

Screaming.

Crying.

Yelling.

Thudding fists.

Powers flaring wildly.

Then something happened that he couldn't describe. The closest thing he could compare it to was drowning; one second he was staring at the Thief girl and the next he was flat on his back along with James, Monica and everyone else in the Institute – even Logan and the Professor had gone completely boneless – trying to catch his breath. Sheer terror and rage beyond anything he had ever felt before was tearing through his heart, closely followed by a ball of horrible aching sadness and hurt.

His fingers seized and tears flowed from his eyes. He could hear others around him crying and gasping. He hyperventilated and sobbed for breath, feeling as helpless as he had felt the day he had fallen into the canal or the day he had gone to see the little girl again.

What was the point of going on? He wondered, feeling his heart thunder in his chest. If he felt like this, what was the point of anything anymore?

And suddenly it was over. A familiar feeling of comforting warmth spread through his chest and he could suddenly breathe again.

When he was finally able to sit up, the Thief girl was gone.

* * *

Noelle stumbled out of the dining room and ran barefooted through the halls and rooms to a door leading outside. She needed to get out. She needed to fly.

It had been years since she had lost control of her empathy and lashed out. There was a reason so few – actually none – of the powerful empaths lasted till adulthood. Everyone's emotions had been slamming at her mind, making it hard to remember which anger had been hers. It had taken her minutes to remember who she was and what she was angry about.

Throwing open the door, she leapt from the ground and climbed up into the air. The wind was ice cold on her skin and cut viciously through her thin tank top and jeans. But it also whipped every hint of thought and emotion except for calm, wild joy from her mind.

She spread her arms out to embrace the sky. Her lungs burned from the cold air but she didn't care. She climbed into the freezing open heavens. Her eyes streamed and she could feel the tears hardening into ice on her cheeks. The hair once bound into a braid had come loose and was sliding over her bare shoulders.

The Institute was now the size of a cobblestone.

Expertly maneuvering her body, Noelle dove and twisted through the air, feeling like a caged bird that has just been released. It was better than any bed rest Dr. McCoy could have prescribed. She had been away from the sky for too long.

Her heart may have belonged to New Orleans but her soul belonged to the sky.

By the time she was ready to go back, she was completely numb and couldn't remember what had been so important about an idiot horndog cheating on her.

"_Merci beaucoup, Dame Ciel_," she said, vaguely aware that her lips were bleeding. "Ah be back soon."

* * *

He stared at the creature coming towards them. It looked like an angel, but there was strength and a strange sort of fragility that he had never seen in any statue or painting.

Her hair was an absolute mess, there were little rivulets of ice trails on her cheeks, her lips were bleeding, her lips, fingers, and _bare _feet were a worrying shade of blue. She landed on the icy stones and looked at them.

"_Bonjour_, y'all."

"_Merde_, Noelle!" the Thief boy ripped off his leather jacket and placed it around the slender shoulders. "Y' turnin' blue."

"_Les étoiles, Lucien_," she whispered, gripping his arm. "_Elles ont chantaient._"

Vincent just watched shocked, trying to reconcile this strange beautiful creature with the clever, fierce Thief. She held up her chin up in the same way and looked around at those gathered around her (her brother, Logan, James, Sofya, Julia, Alexei, Sarah, Laura, Bishop, and himself) with an expression of amused interest. The grey-green eyes had turned that strange color of emerald-silver that they only became when she was extremely angry. But she didn't look upset, if anything she looked as though she had just come from touching the farthest and most beautiful stars.

She wasn't shaking too badly and the brightness of her face and eyes put the Prince in mind of someone that has just come from a meeting with God after finding that the Almighty is really just a friendly, loving entity that wants nothing more than good company.

She also didn't seem to want to watch where she was going, choosing instead to stare up at the dark blue sky pricked by brilliant, glittering stars. The gleaming pinpricks were reflected in her great eyes.

Vincent couldn't stop staring, not even when she noticed that he was looking at her and turned to stare back. He could see the stars in her eyes, tiny white diamonds in an emerald-silver sky…

She smiled at him – a wild and joyful smile that suddenly made him rather envious of what she had seen and the fact that she could see it again if she so chose – and a thought accompanied with a vivid picture flashed through his mind and rendered him completely still.

"Vinny? Mate?" James asked. "You alright, there?"

He blinked and shook himself. Everyone else had already gone inside. "_Ouais_, I'm alrahght."

It took him less than five minutes to get to his and James' room, shuck his clothes and throw himself down on the bed with his sketchbook.

He had his inspiration. He had his goddess.

It truly did suck that he had to kill her – she was very beautiful.

**And Vincent knows what he's gonna do - don't worry if you don't completely hate Denzel now, you will soon. I can promise you that.**

_**Merci beaucoup, Dame Ciel**_** – "Thank you so much, Lady Sky"**

_**Les étoiles…**_ _**Elles ont chantaient**_** – "the stars…they were singing****"**


	35. Chapter 35

**Happy Mardi Gras everybody! Here's your gift! **

**Now, since Lent is tomorrow, don't expect me to update as much but in honor of this momentous occasion - the Super Bowl Trophy finally in New Orleans for a Mardi Gras - I offer you this spicy chapter along with a challenge: Tell me where I got my inspiration for 'it' (trust me, you'll know what 'it' is) and I'll post the next chapter later on today!**

**And now for your enjoyment....**

Chapter 34

Lucien was not happy. Really not happy.

That bastard had hurt Noelle. She had nearly lost herself in everyone's emotions and then flown off, coming back half frozen. Never mind that the flight had cleared her up and she was happier than she had been since before Sofy had told her about the bastard cheating on her, she had been _hurting_. It had taken almost thirty minutes of a hot bath to thaw her out after her impromptu flying session and then she had been so… spacey…

Mama got that way sometimes when she and _Père_ had come out of their room after a long session of he didn't want to know what – but he was completely certain that Noelle had _not _done what Mama was usually doing. And if she had, he would hunt down the no good _fil de une putain_ who had taken advantage of her and blast him to kingdom come.

"Are you alright, Luke?"

He blinked and turned to smile at his Sofy. "Defahne okay, _chérie_."

"Not dead and relatively unaffected by Wolverine's extra training session for punching Denzel through a brick wall."

He snorted. "Dat extra session was a five minute target practice."

"That's it?"

"Monsieur Logan wasn' too pleased wit' da _bâtard_ cheatin' on Noelle."

"_Langue, mon frère!_"

Lucien whipped his head around to see his sister, in one of her sexiest tops – something he knew the bastard had never seen or else he never would have broken up with her – a white peasant top that kept slipping down to reveal a shoulder and a lacy white bra strap. Her auburn hair had been brushed to its shiniest and was lifted into a rough twist that showed off her slender neck and allowed fistfuls of hair to fall messily down on the nape of her neck. Her jeans were slick and a slightly washed out shade of blue. She wore her high heeled boots, dangling golden earrings and the cross that she had been wearing since she had been big enough to wear a crucifix.

He grinned. Vengeance – every kid at Bayville High was going to be absolutely drooling over her – and the one guy who could have had her if he had waited and not been such a… his grin widened.

"What's that mean, Noelle?" asked the little Philadelphian girl Brianna.

"Jus' remindin' Luke o' his mannehs. Now come on, _mes petites_, le's get y'all some breakfast!"

The Thief grinned as he watched his sister, the wild, scheming glint back in her eye, whip cereal, oatmeal, and toast out for her kids. She was back to normal, and with the added desire for revenge on the one who had wronged her.

"You look beautiful, Noelle," Sofy said with a smile.

"_Merci, ma belle amie_, so do you!"

"Y' bot' beautiful," he interrupted, grabbing both of his girl around their slender waists. A kiss on Noelle's cheek and a kiss on Sofy's sweet lips.

"Alrahght, alrahght!" his sister cried, slapping his hand. "Le' go o' me so y'all c'n start makin' out."

Luke obligingly released her and buried his face into his girlfriend's feather soft black curls.

"C'mon _mes petites_," he heard his sister say to her children. "Le's go an' let dese kids finish makin' out."

And so, ignoring the others pouring in from all over the Institute in search of breakfast and stopping only to give Denzel (whose arm was now in a sling) the darkest look he could summon, he kissed Sofy until neither she nor he could walk or see straight.

* * *

"How interesting."

Sinister very carefully placed the two DNA blueprints next to each other and looked again. "How very, very interesting."

After several minutes pouring over the data, he straightened, laid down his magnifying glass, and went to his storage container of the blood vials.

He took out the two samples he was looking for. It took the barest drop of blood to run a paternity test – a mere formality as he was already certain who the father of this young man was.

It took an hour and a half and when the printout told him what he already knew, Sinister carefully typed this new information into his laptop. It had taken much longer than he had thought it would to track down mutant 3697B's father – but then, he had had to work from his A files all the way to his W files. It was rather annoying that it was Wilson rather than Banner or Grim.

But no matter, he thought as he collected his research and test results. He had found what he was looking for. Now it would be best to destroy these before the one calling himself Deadpool returned; though Sinister was fairly confident in the mercenary's ability to kill just about anything that came into his path, he didn't want to test the madman's attachment to his son.

* * *

Denzel nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw Noelle come sauntering out of the house and climb into her brother's truck.

She had…

She looked…

His face screwed up in fury; she couldn't have done that when they were dating? No, she had to pull out the sexy shit after they had broken up.

Which wasn't his fault.

He scowled at her – from the slick jeans that hugged her sweet ass and the blouse that gaped deliciously at her neck.

It wasn't fair.

* * *

Vincent stole a cautious glance at the Thief girl as she took her usual spot beside him in AP US History. Her hair was brushed and tied untidily up and her skin was that strange golden color of a person who has spent too much time in the sun for something as trivial as a long Northern winter for the tan to disappear completely, rather than the rat's nest and the white and blue she had been yesterday. Monica had healed her lips; they were no longer chapped and torn, but smooth, pink and-

There, he interrupted his thoughts. They're there.

The only that had remained the same from yesterday were her eyes. They were still that emerald-silver color and looked as though they had captured stars to glitter in their depths.

He shook himself sharply. _Since when y' so poetic?_

His eyes traveled along down her body, admiring the white loose blouse she wore to the distraction of every male in the classroom except for himself and Mr. Cox who was probably incapable of noticing anything that hadn't happened more than twenty years ago. He lingered on her cross. She was always wearing that and only took it off during Danger Room sessions. He wondered carelessly how long she had had it.

Gritting his teeth with sudden frustration, the Assassin wrenched out his sketchpad. Who cared where she had gotten it? All that mattered was that he got her down on paper and used her face for his painting of a winged goddess.

So as Mr. Cox lectured on America's isolationism in the pre-WWII era, Vincent took quick looks at his neighbor and threw her image down. She had a good face – sleeker and more graceful than Sofy's – and good lines.

Pretty face or not, Vincent reminded himself as he shaded in her eyes, she was still a Thief and still his target. He thought of his uncle's knife neatly tucked away in its sheath at home – no, not home, the Institute – it was on his dresser. He had stopped carrying it around with him, choosing instead to carry around one of the concealed knives from the set the Thief girl had given him. It was slicker than his uncle's and fit better in his hand – not to mention it was better to throw. He could feel the ankle holster holding it safely under his jeans.

He could stick into that slender neck any moment he pleased.

But not until he had finished drawing it.

Several hours later he was effectively distracted from his steady drawing when Miss Fiennes asked to see his sketch in Art class. A bit annoyed at the interruption, the young man offered up his work and was immediately pleased to see the delight on his teacher's face.

"What a beauty! Is this the little girl in your painting all grown up?"

"_Quoi_?" he gasped. "'Course it ain'!"

Miss Fiennes looked taken aback by his vehemence. "Really? But you do not do your women the same – I've seen that in your other works – and I see a definite resemblance!"

His mood was significantly darkened.

* * *

Noelle noticed the staring right away. She was a Master Lady Thief after all.

However, as he wasn't bothering her or attempting to look anywhere he shouldn't and he had been kind enough to pass the milk to Claire that morning (he had stared at his hand in confusion right after Claire had said thank you), she allowed him to continue. She did make a note to snatch his sketchpad to see how he had drawn her; a model had the right to see how she was being portrayed.

That afternoon, she decided to give him an easier time in whatever he was doing so she took her children into the library for some story time and took special care to sit in a direct ray of sunlight. Even now as she read the story of Robin Hood to an eager gaggle of her ducklings, she could feel eyes on her.

"NOELLE!" Julia came tearing through the library, eyes bright and voice higher than any voice had any business being. "We got booth duty!"

She left off in the middle of the tale of the great archery competition to face off with the ecstatic young woman. "We got what?"

The bubbly teen seemed to be quite beside herself. "Booth duty! The kissing booth!"

Eyebrows shooting up into her bangs, Noelle stood up abruptly, dumping Dawn Summers on the floor. "_Merde_, sorreh hun. What're y' talkin' 'bout, Julie? Ah didn' sign up fo' no kissin' booth."

There should be a law for looking that chipper. "For the carnival! Remember? The student council is holding a big festival for Mardi Gras! And we've been chosen to man the kissing booth!"

_Alrahght now, sug_, Noelle told herself firmly. _Jus' be keepin' yo'self calm. Don' be gettin' too mad. Don' snap off Julie's head._

"And what makes y' t'ink dat Ah'd wan' do such a stupid t'ing?"

"AAAAWWWWW!" Julie moaned. "C'mon Noelle! I already told them you'd do it!"

She had no pity. "An' who's fault is dat? Ah don' remembeh sayin' any't'in' lahke dat."

Julie's eyes widened as the girl fell back to the trick that worked on most of the others in the Institute: the puppy dog eyes. "?"

It took quite a bit of effort to keep from grinding her teeth. "Ah said no. Not afteh wha' happened las' year."

With an affronted toss of her brown hair, the petite brunette stomped away. "See if I ever help you again, Noelle LeBeau!"

Rolling her eyes, the Cajun shut the book and addressed her kids, all of whom were staring from the retreating Julia back to her.

"What's a kissing booth?" Jake Alvers asked first.

"I's a place where boys c'n go an' get kissed by pretteh girls fo' a dollah."

Allison looked insulted. "Kissin' y' should beh worth mo' den dat!"

That drew a smile from her. "Merci, _petite chère_."

"Why do they have to pay?" Tony asked. "We don't."

"Da kindsa kisses dey lookin' foh are different from da ones Ah give y'all."

Fatima hugged her fiercely around the waist. "The kisses you give us are the best I've ever besides the ones I got from Mother and Mummy."

Noelle bent and kissed the girl on the cheek. "Merci. Now! We got' get y'all readeh fo' dinneh. Go ta da dinin' room an' help Monica set da table."

They trundled off obediently, some of them demanding kisses before they went. She busied herself gathering up the blankets they had been lying on and folding them up. She was just laying them neatly in an armchair when a voice she had forgotten about distracted her.

"What happened las' year?" Vincent Boudreaux asked.

She shrugged. "Las' year I helped at da Spring Fling carnival at Bayville High an' t'ings got outta hand."

"Y' got attacked?"

"Ah wish. Ah was workin' da kissin' booth an' da boys wouldn' leave _moi _alone. Ah had ta hide durin' mah breaks an' even afteh we'd closed up da booth dey wouldn' leave. Luke an' Alex had ta beat 'em off."

The Assassin smiled grimly. "'S what y' get when y' use y' powers on men."

She made a face at him. "Didn' use mah powers on 'em. Jus' kissed 'em."

"Realleh."

Was that a challenge? "What? Y' don' believe Ah c'n kiss dat good?"

He snorted. "No. Now admit it, T'ief girl, y' used y' powehs."

With a groan, Noelle started picking up the books all over the floor. "Didn'."

She heard the squeak of leather as Vincent got up out of his chair. "Den 'splain ta _moi_ how y' ended up havin' da boys follow y'. 'Less y' lyin', o' course."

"Ah don' lie. Well… no' today. An' Ah don' need mah powers ta kiss someone."

There was a scoff. "Dere is no way y' dat good a kisseh."

"Sho' dere is." She started sorting through the books, searching for another one to read to her kids.

"Y' hones'ly tellin' _moi_ dat y' had a group o' men followin' y' aroun' 'cause y' were such a good kisseh."

"_Oui_. Ah am."

"_Menteuse._"

Okay, now there many things that annoyed Noelle LeBeau without getting her angry enough to tear your throat out, one of which happened to be calling her a liar. She turned around and glared at the young man walking towards the library door. "Ah am not lyin' Monsieur Boudreaux, Ah happened ta have all dose men eatin' out o' mah hand 'cause Ah happen ta be a fabuleux kisser."

"Y' ain'."

He was just trying to make her angry; she could feel his enjoyment and triumph at goading her. Well, she knew how to counter that!

* * *

Vincent smirked. He was getting quite a kick out of teasing the Thief girl.

"Oh no?"

His smirk widened – had she really reverted so quickly to two-word infantile rebuttals? He must really be winning. And the best part was that there was no way she could win this argument. No way at all.

"No."

"Oh yeah?"

Wow, this was the best she could come up with? He turned to face her and deliver his final word. Even though it was rather amusing to see her so close to him, her cheeks turning pink in anger and her jaw clenched indignantly, it was getting rather boring to have so obvious an advantage. "Yeah."

Suddenly her hands were on his chest and pushing him backwards. Okay, funness gone – where the hell was his knife?

"Y' asked fo' it, _garçon_!" she growled as his back hit the door of library.

Ah! His fingers curved around the hilt on his knife and got ready, feeling the Thief yank him forwards. The throat. It was the best bet for –

And quite abruptly he couldn't breathe for the lips on his.

What the fucking hell?

She was kissing him!

_She was kissing him!_

And not on the cheek this time either.

He dropped the knife and tried to back away, a noise of shock escaping, but he was pinned between the solid door and the equally solid, but softer, Thief.

She did something with her tongue and suddenly he couldn't remember why he _shouldn't_ be kissing her. His arms wrapped around her slender waist and he tilted his head to better accommodate for their noses. She bit his lip lightly and he quickly and eagerly opened his mouth.

Her hands had a death grip on his shirt, but he had no intention of trying to get away. One of the hands that were stroking the delicate hollow on the small of her back was very slowly making its way up her spine, while the other fiddled with the hem of her blouse. Damn, she tasted good!

There were little shivers running through his body as his fingers tangled in her hair to cup her neck. He tried to steer her around and get her up against the wall where he could properly plunder her mouth, but she was having none of that. He couldn't move her but when her tongue twisted just _so_ in his mouth it ceased to matter that he wasn't the one driving this. He pulled her close to him and kissed her back as hard as he could.

After what might have been days, the warmth against him retreated slightly and the sudden awareness of the dizziness that had been assaulting him hit. This told him several things, the foremost being he was no longer being kissed. The second of which being he should probably breathe in now.

The Thief girl stepped out of his grip and he fell back against the door and bonelessly slid down it. His ass hit the ground and he could only open his eyes and look up at her in dead shock. She, for her part, glared down at him and tugged her shirt straight fiercely.

"Well, _mon ami_, Ah'm sorreh Ah had ta get tough wit'y' but y' had ta learn!"

He was caught like a bug under those silver-emerald eyes, which softened a bit as their owner bent to his level and reached out. Where the hell was his training? Some part of his brain was howling as he sat there and let her wipe her lip gloss off him kindly.

And then she was gone.

And he was confused as hell with all the thoughts running around his head. Namely that she had been right – she was one hell of a kisser.

* * *

Noelle closed the library door carefully; it would be better if Vincent had some privacy to compose himself – she had kissed him harder and deeper than she had ever kissed Denzel – and she herself was going to need some time alone as well.

She made it to Ororo and Laura's greenhouses before her legs gave out. Sprawling out on the cold ground and breathing in the thick perfume of the roses, lilies, orchids and gardenias, she closed her eyes again and went over the kiss in her head. He was good at it – not quite as good as she was, but that he had even come close was extremely impressive considering she had taken him by surprise. As it was, it took a moment to steady herself and keep her hands from drifting over to brush over her lips.

The young Thief took a deep breath and remembered the feeling of the open sky. She breathed in the cool air and breathed out her confusion.

She was Noelle LeBeau, Master Thief, specializing in seduction – among other things. Noelle LeBeau did not lose her head just because a good looking Cajun with pretty eyes kissed her. She had been around those her whole life. For God's sake, she had been raised by the King of Hearts who had taught her every single trick a man could use to get women into bed.

Besides, she told herself walking to the dining room, she wasn't about to get tangled up with an artist – they were as bad as Thieves. Not to mention… _I_ kissed _him._

**And there, ladies and gentlemen, is your kiss. Go Noelle!**

_fil de une putain_ – "son of a bitch"

_Langue, mon frère_– "Language, my brother"

_Menteuse _– "Liar"

_Garçon _– "Boy"


	36. Chapter 36

**Well, if you're interested where I got my inspiration for 'it' - PS, 'it' was the kiss - check on Youtube under 'the nanny a kiss is just a kiss part 2'.**

**Now, here's the next chapter, hope you all haven't died from suspense. Though you might from this chapter.**

Chapter 35

Vincent flipped through his many, many sketches of the Thief girl, trying very, _very_, hard not to think about today's incident. So she had kissed him – she had done it to make a point.

But he couldn't help but ask himself many very confusing questions. Had she used her powers on him? Had she awakened these strange feelings in him? Would she have done the same thing if James had challenged her? Did she do this to everyone?

Damn male hormones!

"You look like you got somethin' on your mind," Bishop said from where he was reading the sports section of the newspaper.

"I's not'in'."

"Really?" mused the big man. "That why you didn't say two words at dinner, couldn't remember how much James owes you, and jumped when Noelle brushed against you?"

At that moment, Vincent decided he truly hated perceptive adults. They thought they knew everything – granted they usually knew a lot more than he did… he cut off that thought before it could go any farther. He grunted at Bishop and went back to going through the sketches.

Okay, this was _not_ helping him. Staring at drawings of the girl who had so efficiently screwed with him was not a good way to get her out of his head, but the deadline for the art competition was sneaking up as Miss Fiennes was so sweetly reminding him. March 14th was getting closer by leaps and bounds and he hadn't even started painting.

Less than one month!

Yeah, yeah, this was safer to think about than…

The scenery around him dissolved and he was suddenly watching someone sprint across a rickety, rotten looking wooden roof with a gang of bigger figures running after him.

No, no it wasn't a him. It was a her. It was the Thief girl, but younger and slenderer than she was now. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and was running like hell.

Vincent recognized the tall gangly blond kid at the head of the pack chasing her. It was him…a younger him.

He watched as the mini-Thief froze as an ominous creak and crack sounded from under her feet. Then the portion of the roof she was standing on simply folded in and she fell, a short sharp scream escaping her. Even as she was plummeting, he found that his view of the event had abruptly changed – he was now falling with her, so close he could see the utter panic on her face, then the oddest look of calm – even of boredom – and finally an expression of outright shock as she stopped falling.

His heart stuttered – this was how her flight powers had manifested!

Before he could see anything more he found himself flat on his back gasping as though he had been the one falling through the air.

"Vincent? Kid? You okay?"

Bishop was shakily pushing himself to his feet from where he had fallen out of his chair.

"Not dead," Vincent groaned in answer. "Wha' da hell was dat?"

"You tell me, that kid chasing mini-Noelle was you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, well, da's a long story-"

Professor Xavier's voice thundered out. _Everyone! To my –_

And then he saw clear as crystal a group of men forcing an emaciated Sofya Rasputin onto an examining table. They were saying things, but his hearing was muffled – like he had stuffed them with cotton – and laughing with cruel looks on their faces as they strapped her down.

One of them took out the biggest knife he had ever seen – it looked a bowie knife – and sliced into Sofya's arm. She screamed silently, but the knife made no impression in her skin.

For almost ten minutes Vincent stood there watching as the bastards kept trying to make her bleed to no avail. Sofy's mutant ability made her skin literally unbreakable and her bones and muscles completely invulnerable – but she could still feel each and every injury as it was given. Indestructibly painful.

Then he was out on the floor again before he was catapulted into another scene. Sarah was chained, struggling and awake, to a table as a team of white clad scientist-looking guys gathered around her and cut into her arms. Her mouth opened in a shriek and she writhed as they sliced deeper and spread the skin away from the wound until they reached her two bone claws.

But wait a second. Sarah had three claws – the same as Logan – it was Miss Laura who had two… Miss Laura who looked just like her daughter.

Oh no – that couldn't be…

Now they were pulling the bone claws from her arms – ignoring her obviously terrible cries – yanking callously.

No – now he was watching a small blonde tugging her mother's arm as the tall woman tried to go out of the door. She didn't want her mother to go, but the woman spoke quietly to her, kissed her on the cheek and left.

Then the girl was staring at a destroyed car sitting in a lot and then she was standing in a cold white room with a slender man as a hospital orderly quietly pulled a sheet over the woman's head. It was now that Vincent recognized the little girl. It was Bridget.

The world dissolved and he was standing in a huge cathedral, looking on as his mother strode along in a wedding dress, her arm possessively looped through the arm of an intensely unhappy looking man. A tall man with unmistakable demonic eyes – red irises on black sclera. And then his mother was all in black tearing through the family home, her mascara running.

His heart twisted. This must have been his mother's wedding and when his uncle, father, or grandfather had been murdered.

At last the sight of Belladonna melted away and he was left on Bourbon Street as his mother stumbled out of a bar, her arms wrapped around a shadowed man even taller than Gambit had been. Whoever it was – he supposed his father – was dressed in red and had his mouth pressed against his mother's…

And then that was gone and he was watching as a hard eyed woman thrust a younger version of the little girl Allison into a dark basement, her mouth forming the words "Monster!".

Then he watched as a little person made of fire came tearing through a market place, people in Middle Eastern garb screaming and hurling rocks after her.

The Japanese Sayuri trying to saw her raven wings off with a kitchen knife –

A younger James was showing a woman with his blue eyes a fistful of dancing flames –

The Thief boy swinging his leg over his gorgeous red motorcycle –

What he was pretty sure to be WWII Normandy D-Day –

And then it was over.

All over.

_Everyone_, came the Professor's voice after a few tense minutes. _Report to the dining room immediately._

By the time he and Bishop had made it to the dining room, most of the others were already there, each looking very shaken.

Monica sat beside James Allerdyce, leaning her head on his shoulder, and as a testament to his exhaustion, the Brit didn't even seem to notice. The Thief boy came in with an arm around a deathly pale Sofy who wouldn't stop rubbing her arms. Miss Laura was sitting very still, her son Adam in her lap and her husband and daughter flanking her with their arms over her shoulders. Logan had a muscle twitching in his jaw. When the Thief girl showed up with her brood, Fatima made a beeline to her adopted brother and clambered in his lap. Allison just stood very still by the Thief, tears trickling steadily down her face.

Professor Xavier was sitting very still and serious at the head of the dining room table, surrounded by the teachers, some of the older students, and a very shaken Bridget.

"You all noticed Bridget's newest power, I presume?"

"And what power is that?" Alexei asked. "Was she the one to make us see all those… things?"

"You all know that my power is to see things?" Bridget said quietly from where she was hunched over in her chair. "Now it has evolved in such a way that it is now possible for me to project my visions to others." She bowed her head. "My sincerest apologies, I did not foresee it being so terrible for all of you."

No one said anything.

"I had my first vision when I was eleven. I saw my mother was going to be in a car crash and that she would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. When I told her, she didn't believe me. She left and that afternoon her car was hit by a drunk – her chest was crushed and she died almost instantly. It wasn't long after that that I realized that blatantly telling others of my knowledge worsened the events that would befall them.

"Since then, I have been careful to speak only in riddles of what I know. But now… I was wrong… my visions were to be in March… I did not foresee this…" Her voice shook and slow tears began to make their way down her cheeks.

"It is quite alright, Bridget," the Professor said kindly. "Why don't you go and lie down?"

"I cannot before saying this," the Swiss girl looked up and gave them each a piercing look. "From here the tides will turn deadly. Blood calls to blood, even blood hidden by the red and the insanity and the lies and manipulation. Truth will be shown and I will be there to confirm what is already deeply known. The Mardi Gras awaits. Do not neglect the school carnival."

With those highly confusing words, she nodded to each of them, with a murmured, "_Je vais monter te tout à demain, Vincent Boudreaux. __S'il vous plait, ne fais pas quelque chose bête._" And then she left the room.

"What did she say?" Jayden Daniels asked.

"She was talkin' ta Vincent," the Thief girl said. "Don' worreh 'bout it."

"I am worrying about it," Cyclops said in his snooty, asshole leader voice. "Now what did she say?"

"It is illogical to ask such things, Scott," Tessa said from where she was standing with Bishop. "According to Bridget, that has a high probability of worsening the coming situation. If she had wanted everyone to know what was said, she would not have said it in French."

"Sage is right," Xavier said firmly. "Leave it alone, Scott. I suppose you are all going to the Mardi Gras festival tomorrow, aren't you?"

* * *

Noelle wrinkled her nose at the pathetic streamers, beads and masks that decorated the booths in the school carnival. This was just sad. Even after hurricanes tore through New Orleans, floats, music, and parties raged all through the night. There was just something about it that the North just couldn't replicate – she guessed it to be the Southern everything.

All of the older students were here, prowling through the rows of carnival games and cheap rides. They were all on edge, watching for whatever it was that Bridget had foreseen.

Bridget who had been sedated after waking up screaming three times last night and was thus asleep at the Institute. Bridget who was not around to point out what had been in her visions.

The Cajun sighed deeply and thought longingly of the warm dark shadows of New Orleans. They were a lovely thought when contrasted to the idiotic frigid gaudiness of Bayville's Mardi Gras carnival – but to be fair, all of the people on the planning committee had been Northerners who had never been in the midst of the madness in a true New Orleans party.

They couldn't know what the real thing was like.

She passed Alexei watching several overweight football players try the strength game, looking rather amused. The Russian could probably throw the entire machine into the air, never mind hit the bell. Then there was Alana at the side show, looking at the bearded lady. As if she couldn't turn herself into creepier and crazier things with barely a thought.

It was really quite amusing to see people try and show off when there were those among them who could outdo them without breaking a sweat.

Going on, she paused in front of a small, local band rocking out on a modest sized stage. They were actually quite good and her head nodded along with the beat. Strobe and rave lights flashed everywhere, lighting the crowds pink and green and blue.

Then there was a moment of solid darkness as the band's song came to its climax only to light up in a blinding array of white light.

Rolling her eyes at this, the young Thief tried to force the purple spots away from her eyes as she fought her way from the flock of people hurrying to scream praises at the musicians. It didn't take very long to extract herself from the chaos, but as soon as she did, she got a nasty feeling that something very problematic was coming.

She shifted her shoulders inside her leather jacket, sauntering over to a nice bit of shadows to pinpoint the source of this unsettling sensation. Her eyes darted around, eyesight exceptionally good even in the dark.

It was getting closer…

Noelle opened her senses to feel what it was.

Wait.

Wasn't that…?

Oh shit, not tonight of all nights!

She whipped around to face Vincent Boudreaux.

* * *

Vincent had been prowling around the backs of the stalls giving out food and stupid replications of Mardi Gras beads, games, and fortune tellers, watching out for anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing wrong here, except for idiot New Yorkers trying to replicate New Orleans. He growled – damn, how he missed his city!

Still in a nasty mood, he made his way to the blast of music that he could swear was making the air rattle. The beat wasn't too bad and he climbed up a wobbly flight of stairs that led up to a palm reader's little trailer.

Looking out over the teenagers rocking out, he spotted the Thief girl in the crowd, watching the band with a slightly interested expression. The lights suddenly cut out then came back on and he was abruptly looking at her, all lit up from the lights and her cross gleaming gold-white.

And then it clicked.

His heart stuttered to a stop. He couldn't take his eyes away from the cross around her neck, even as she moved away. In his head he kept hearing a little girl's voice saying, _D'accord, Ah come an' give it back ta y'!... A bientôt, mon ami…_

He saw clear as day the little girl waving goodbye to him from her porch, his cross around her neck… the cross that was now on the Thief girl's neck.

He had given it to that child as a gesture of friendship and thanks – it had seemed right at the time and his mother had said it was a fine gesture for a future Guildmaster – and now this Thief was wearing it openly before him!

Had been wearing it for months – ever since he had come here! Had she known? Did it really mean chickenshit if she had known or not?

His hands started to shake. The bitch had taken it from the little girl – he could just see her picking through the bodies and snatching the bit of gold from the small, vulnerable limp body – like the Thief she was.

A Thief. Just like his mother had told him – and he had actually started to think that maybe these Thieves might not be so bad! That they might even be actual people!

That _she_ was beautiful.

_She_ was a whore and a target.

To hell with what was going to happen to him. It was time to end this.

No more plans.

Vincent leapt over the railing and landed with absolute silence. He had been letting himself go soft. This was not his home – this could never be his home.

It took little time to find her in the shadows of a nearby booth and he wasted no time in diving on her, throwing up the mental wall he had been practicing against her empathy. She spun around, her emerald-silver eyes gleaming brilliantly in the darkness even as she fell backwards onto the cold, hard ground and threw her legs up. He allowed the momentum of his leap and her legs to carry him through the air. He rolled expertly, managing to twist as he hit the dirt to come up to face her.

The Thief was making no move against him. She looked livid in fact. "Wha' da hell're y' doin', Vincent? Dis ain' da tahme fo' dis! Cain' y' wai-"

"T'ief!" he hissed at her like a curse.

Her hands plunked down onto her hips. "_Oui, je le suis_. Now wha' da hell is yo' problem?"

He darted forwards, heedless of anything but that he had to at least get the cross off her neck – didn't want her bleeding all over it.

And so they fought and Vincent realized that all of her clever, fierce moves in the Danger Room was nothing compared to what she was showing him right now. He had to be careful; he knew she was trying to get him to injure her just enough to render her invincible.

_A bientot, mon ami!_

Vincent's hand flashed out and he caught the Thief's wrist and for the first time, he landed her lightly and firmly on her back. Straddling her body and pinning her struggling body on the ground, he could feel her powers mercilessly hacking at his emotions, trying to render him calm, but he was too lost in his fury to lose now.

The image of the little girl's face was flashing in his head and he snapped his uncle's knife into a ready position. On a sudden whim, he used the blade to raise the cross and its chain from her neck.

"Where'd y' get dis?"

Her answer made him choke. "Y' gave it ta _moi_."

"_Quoi_?"

"Y' gave it ta _une petite fille, oui_? 'Bout fahve years old? Big grey-green eyes? She pulled y' outta da canal an' took y' home." She smiled wanly at him. "Am Ah gettin' warmer?"

"Yo' lyin'." He made to stab her.

"Still got _mon frère_'s shoes? If y' gon' take da cross back, c'n Ah have da shoes?"

His hand froze. She was lying. That was what Thieves did!

She could have found out in any number of ways – there were spies everywhere in New Orleans! He was going to end this now –

"That is enough."

And quite suddenly they weren't at the Bayville High School Mardi Gras carnival. They were in the front yard of an old French Quarter style house.

Vincent's mouth fell open and his grip slackened on the Thief. He sat up to stare at the house – this was the little girl's house.

"Wha' da hell're we doin' heah?" the Thief girl murmured.

"I brought you here, Noelle LeBeau," said Bridget Defour, appearing a little ways away. "Vincent Boudreaux, did I not tell you to do nothing stupid? Did I not tell you that I would show and explain everything?

"Now please get up off of Mademoiselle LeBeau and watch."

He didn't move, just watched as the door to the house opened and an older version of the Thief boy – this one equipped with demonic eyes – came out with a familiar little girl.

"It is time you see something very important."

* * *

Back at the Xavier Institute, Laura was sniffing at Bridget's empty hospital bed as a cell phone started to ring.

She heard the ringing stop, Bishop answer, and then a loud and ringing roar of _"WHAT!"_

Well, thought the former HYDRA assassin. That never means anything good.

**And the truth shall be revealed!**

**Don't worry, I am NOT giving up updating for Lent (obviously). I don't have that kind of discipline.**

**Now REVIEW please!**

_Je vais monter te tout à demain, Vincent Boudreaux. S'il vous plait, ne fais pas quelque chose bête._ – "I will show you everything tomorrow, Vincent Boudreaux. Please, don't do anything stupid."

_Oui, je le suis _– "Yes, I am"


	37. Chapter 37

**Here is the next chapter - but if you don't like cliff hangers you shouldn't try reading this until Saturday. You have been warned.**

**Kindly review!!!**

Chapter 36

"_Non, chère_," Gambit was saying in a slightly exasperated voice. "Y' ain' goin' anywhere near dose canals."

"_Pourquoi pas?_" demanded the small girl, her auburn ponytail bouncing in time to her steps to keep up with her father. "Ah ain' gon' fall in!"

"Too close ta 'Ssassin territory. Answer's still no."

The child set her jaw and grabbed her father's hand in both of hers. "Ah won' talk ta none o' 'em. An' if Ah see even one Ah come straight home, _je te promise_."

The Thief Prince rolled his unnerving eyes. "_Petite_, I got da feelin' dat wit' yo' luck y' end up runnin' inta da 'Ssassin Prince hisself."

She shrugged. "But he don' know what Ah look lahke!"

"Don' know dat, Noelle. Could be, someone showed 'im you same way I show y' him."

Their conversation continued on this vein for several more minutes until the man swooped down, grabbed his daughter and lifted her over his head. "_D'accord, d'accord, petite_. Y' c'n go, but one sight o' 'Ssassins an' y' come straight home, _comprends_?"

She didn't seem at all frightened at being held over six feet from the ground, she merely looked her father in the eye and nodded solemnly. "_Je te promise_."

And with that, Vincent watched as the miniature Thief was set loose. She leapt up the porch steps to hug a taller, older version of her sister, sang "_A bientôt_, Mama!" and ran out of her yard.

The scene fast-forwarded around them and Vincent found himself standing slowly as the little girl darted through the alleys of New Orleans, went into a voodoo shop that was little more than a hole in the wall and came out with an orange and a pocketknife to peel it with. She sat on a curb in front of an open air butcher store, obviously unbothered by the plucked chickens and the pickled frog legs, and ate the whole fruit. Then she was off again, heading to a part of town Vincent was very familiar with.

The canals.

She spent a while running along the edges, peering down into the wood choked waterways or laying flat on her stomach to try and touch the rushing water.

Abruptly the scene slowed and Vincent could hear shouting and jeering.

The little girl rose to her feet, obviously having heard it as well. She ran to see what it was.

Vincent winced as he saw a small, skinny little boy with a shock of dark blond hair come tearing along the side of another canal, several feet and one channel of water away. Mini-Vincent turned to look at the gang of preteen Thieves practically breathing down his neck and spun back around to try and run even faster. His desperation – which was quite obvious on his face – managed to help him gain several feet in his lead on his tormentors.

Another glance behind him and he lost his balance, crashing down into the water below.

Somewhere to his right Vincent heard someone hiss curses under their breath.

The Thieves immediately gathered around the spot where his younger self had fallen down and laughed, pointing as the drowning boy resurfaced and scrambled to try and get back up on dry land. Back with the little girl, Vincent saw her eyes dart to the boy in the canal then back to the Thieves. Ducking behind a mound of splintered crates, she cupped her hands around her mouth, screamed "Assassins!" and the Thieves scattered.

With the grace and strength of a gazelle, the little girl leapt across the canal, lay flat on her stomach besides it and reached both arms down to snatch at the boy.

And so it was that Noelle LeBeau, daughter of the Prince of Thieves, met Vincent Boudreaux, Prince of Assassins, and took him to her house.

* * *

It wasn't 'til the visions around the three had vanished did Vincent spin around and stare at the Thief girl. She had stood up at some point and didn't seem the slightest bit surprised at what they had seen.

"Dat was you?" he gasped.

She left off running her fingers through her hair, getting all of the dirt out of it, to raise her eyebrows at him. "_Mais oui_, don' tell _moi_ y' still don' recognize meh."

He swung his gaze from the Thief to Bridget. "Y' lyin'. Bot' o' y' are lyin'!"

Bridget stared at him calmly. "I cannot lie in my visions, Vincent Boudreaux."

"Dat's a load crap!" he started backing away. He should just kill them both for lying to him… yeah, he should do that now.

Now!

Why was he still backing up?

The Thief girl smiled in that way that so frustrated him – because he hadn't been able to connect it to the little girl's – and cocked her head in the same way she had when she was a girl. "_Bête fil_."

"Don' call me dat!"

He was not noticing how she still had the same high cheekbones or the same wavy auburn hair. He most certainly didn't see the similar lines of the chin and mouth.

And he sure as hell didn't see the crack – indistinguishable – mirror-like – identical resemble she bore to the woman that he was constantly seeing in his dreams. He did not see it.

Wasn't there. Nope.

"Well, Vincent Boudreaux," Bridget began in her usual way. "I cannot force you to believe what I am saying. I will leave you with this: The dragon held down among the vipers cannot fly until he unburdens himself of the vipers' venom."

He couldn't help but ask. "An' what happens when da dragon gets rid o' da venom?"

Cool blue eyes glittered. "He finds his wings and flies with the raptor. And Noelle? Morphine works just as well when you drink it." With those words, the Swiss girl glided away.

"Okay, well, dat last part didn't make no sense at all."

At the Thief girl's words, he spun to face her, teeth bared. "I don' believe you – you ain' her. You cain' be!"

"Den how Ah got dis necklace?" She laid a hand on it.

His head hurt, but he shook it wildly anyway. "Yo' a t'ief. Y'all steal – even from bodies."

The girl seemed to swell in anger. "Stealin' from a body is da lowest any T'ief can sink to – y' get banished o' disgraced at da vereh least."

"An' we all know how much yo' kind are afraid o' gettin' banished," he snarled back, the thought of her father openly flouting his banishment and disgrace by showing his face in New Orleans less than five years after the bastard had killed his uncle.

She was drawing herself up so much she looked taller than her five feet eight inches, but he was too upset to care. "One o' yo' relations took dat cross from dat girl after she got cut down –"

"No dey didn'. If y'd come back ta _Saint Louis_ da day afteh dat y'd have found meh waitin' fo' y'." She tore the chain and cross off her neck and threw it at him. "Take da damn t'ing. S'yo's anyway an' Ah neveh wan'ed ta beh paid fo' doin' rahght."

Giving him a look that would have curdled his mother's blood in her veins, the Thief girl spun on her boot heel and walked away. And Vincent was left standing there feeling like he had been punched in the chest.

It took him several minutes to reach down and pick up the cross she had discarded. Yup, this was it.

_Well, mate,_ said an inner voice that sounded very much like James, _you've really managed to screw it up now!_

What the hell had he screwed up?

The attempted assassination or…

His gaze wandered to the cross in his fist.

* * *

Charles walked hand in hand with Alana, glancing around to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. They had just passed the Ferris wheel when Alana's phone started to ring.

Pulling it from her purse, she answered with her usual "This is Alana". A loud voice on the other end of the line made her stop dead.

"Charlie," she said, angling her mouth away from the mouthpiece. "There's a situation – we've got to call the others."

"Why?" What had happened? "What's going on?"

"The Marauders broke out of SHIELD. We need to get back to the Institute immediately – somehow Bolivar Trask found out and he's out for blood."

"Let me guess, he thinks we're behind it."

"Bingo."

"Give me a moment." The young telepath spread his mind out and felt around.

There was James, Monica, Alexei and Julia…

Just around the corner was Jayden…

Sarah was watching the carnival games…

Sofya and Lucien were among those watching the crowd at the concert…

Denzel in a corner with his friends…

Logan, Laura, and Bishop scouting the entrance…

His father and his uncle along with Iceman watched the food booths…

And two almost invisible presences that could have been Noelle and Vincent…

_Everyone! We have a problem – meet at the entrance!_

* * *

The first sign Noelle got that something was wrong as she was hurrying to meet up with the others was a spike of terror, confusion and disbelief that was arising from her right.

Lashing out with her empathy, the young woman threw out feelings of agonizing boredom and deathly exhaustion. Almost instantly, those around her began making their way very quickly towards the exits, complaining about being tired or how lame the whole thing had turned out to be.

Noelle meanwhile was taking cover behind a cotton candy booth so she could take off into the air with minimal attention. She had to fight to ignore the nakedness stemming from the empty spot around her neck.

_Imbécile_, she thought darkly, taking off.

Then suddenly every hint of Vincent in her head was gone as she found herself staring into the face of a Sentinel.

"_Merde_."

"Mutant detected. Eliminate."

"_Double merde_."

Twisting her body, she rocketed out of the way as the robot aimed a huge red beam at her.

As soon as the crimson light illuminated the night sky the whole of the mass of humanity below her shrieked and started sprinting for the exits.

Which left Kestrel with the task of dealing with one… two… three… four… seven… twelve… and one more… thirteen Sentinels while most of her classmates ran around beneath her.

Joy.

And of course she had nothing to scratch herself with to draw blood which meant bruising herself.

More joy.

"Noelle?!"

"_Bouge-toi maintenant!_"

She barely had time to get out of the way before her brother's sound blast came screaming in to knock the huge machine off its feet. This put her directly in the path of another red laser.

Okay. Diversionary tactics.

With a grace and dexterity that would make a hummingbird stop and take notice, she weaved herself through the maze of Sentinels – more of which were arriving from every direction.

Meanwhile, the X-Men had arrived. She could hear the terrible screech of adamantium claws slicing through steel, the crackling of flame, booms of the sound barrier breaking, and the other sounds associated with mutants fighting off an invasion of Sentinels.

A huge arm brushed past her and she dropped from the sky like a diving bird.

"Logan! Need yo' claws!"

There was another metal arm barreling straight towards her but Denzel was between them – he would stop it.

It was getting closer…

Closer…

Why wasn't he…?

Harsh hatred and vindictiveness spread over her skin.

_He wasn't going to stop it._

Kestrel managed to twist in midair to put her right ribs closer to the incoming arm – protect her heart…

Her entire consciousness whited out and she was abruptly aware of everyone's emotions.

And then she was on the ground.

She couldn't feel her body – though the right side of it seemed rather crumpled in and she couldn't catch her breath. But she could feel the adrenaline rushing through her veins, and she could feel the hum of her muscles. Her body was trembling, ready to get into the air and pulverize whatever it was that was threatening her.

So she did.

* * *

Sniper stood in the shadows of one of the booths, staring up at the Sentinels and waiting for a good spot to throw the small explosives in his pocket. He wasn't much into explosives – he preferred to do things with bullets, knives or skin.

One of the Sentinels stumbled backwards as a force bulled into its chest, destroying the laser plate and exposing the delicate workings inside.

"_Merci_, T'ief boy," he muttered even as he took careful aim.

Just as he let the little bomb fly through the air, its target firmly specified, one of the Sentinels suddenly lunged forward, swinging a massive arm at a lithe figure darting through the air.

_Bang_

The targeted Sentinel reeled back once again as an explosion blasted its torso apart. It fell and took one of its fellows – not fast enough to get out of the way – with it.

There was no time for him to celebrate his victory as something smashed into the ground barely fifteen feet away and he had about five seconds to stare at the Thief girl lying on her left side. He noticed that there was not a scratch on her, but there was something strange about her side…

It looked almost… crumpled.

A strange and unfamiliar feeling of anger, disbelief and a terrible sense of _purpose_ shot through him.

But there was no time for anymore observation before she was suddenly on her feet and shooting into the sky like a jet fighter.

"Knife! Get your ass over here and help!"

And thus began the most insane fight he had ever suffered through. Ice, fire, laser beams, sound waves, little knives of diamond, and teenaged Thief girls were flying every which way through the air. Sniper just concentrated on throwing his explosives and not hitting his teammates.

Sprinting through the carnage, he took cover behind a demolished Sentinel chest only to find the Thief boy crouched behind in as well.

"Dis ain' goin' well," Backlash commented blandly.

Seeing as fighting for your life against giant robots sort of made old family quarrels seem rather meaningless right now, Sniper answered him as easily as if they had been friends their entire lives. "_Non_, not at all."

The Thief cocked his head at him lazily. "Wan' coveh meh while Ah trah somet'in' suicidal?"

"Sound fun. Go fo' it."

Nodding at each other with a look that only other guys could understand, Backlash left his hiding place with a yell that he managed to magnify enough to take a Sentinel's head off. Meanwhile, Sniper threw bombs over the charging Thief's head with reckless abandon.

He was fighting side by side with a Thief. His mother was having urges to drown herself in the bayou and she didn't know why.

Backlash had to throw himself on the ground to avoid being pulverized by a piece of the Ferris wheel. The Thief boy glanced back at Sniper and suddenly shouted out, "Get down!"

What?

_Oh_, was his only thought as a huge fist descended upon him with what should have been a deafening crash but what somehow seemed quite muffled.

When his head finally cleared, he was lying in a small crater with a massive headache. Reaching up to ensure his head was still on, he found that he had a softball sized wound in his head – he could _feel_ something wet and warm and soft under something very hard and round.

Oh God, he was touching his brain.

He wrenched his hand away, then struggled to stand up.

Shouldn't he be dead?

This healing thing was crazy – it had to be equal to Wolverine's – or hell, even that freak Deadpool!

"Vincent! Watch out!"

A dome of shining diamond grew over his head and he was abruptly aware of Bijou standing beside him, eyes wide and horrified. A huge fist descended on the shield and bounced off neatly.

"Vincent…" the Chicago bred girl whispered. "Your head!"

"It healin'?"

The girl looked as though she might faint. "Y-yeah…"

"Good, go 'head an' let da shield down. We got' get out dere!"

"But-"

"NOW!"

The shield shattered around them and Sniper wasted no time in charging out. He was going to finish what he had started and then he was going to find the Thief girl and force her to tell him the truth.

_Crash_

_Bang_

_Boom_

An explosion that looked the size of a small atomic bomb threw everyone backwards as a particularly big Sentinel blew into a thousand pieces. Sniper hit something that felt suspiciously like a crisscrossing of metal bars and lay haphazardly in a soft pile of cheap plush toys.

He had fallen into one of the game booths – fallen through the roof.

Sniper tried to move and was rewarded with a burst of pain so sharp that he froze. Judging by the horrific way his back had tried to go in opposite directions – he'd have to guess that his spine was snapped.

So he lay there gritting his teeth as he felt the muscles, bones, and assorted other body parts knit back together. The sound of the Sentinels being torn apart was counterpointed nicely with sound booms, explosions and cracks that made the ground shake.

After about five minutes, he noticed the din growing quieter and he was finally able to sit upright. Rolling from the booth, he stole a look up towards the battle. Of the twenty plus Sentinels that had arrived there were only three left – one of which had a gimpy leg.

Nodding sharply to himself, Sniper made his way through the maze of carnival rides and stalls (what was left of them) to loop around and get behind the crippled robot. One explosive and that thing would be missing its leg.

Dodging through the shadows, he tripped on something that made a sound somewhere between a gasp and scream. Sniper twisted his body so fast, his skeleton nearly ripped out of his skin.

A curse tore itself from his lips.

A body.

He had run straight into a body.

But not just a body – it had made a sound so it must still be alive.

Sniper crawled to its side and cursed even harder.

It wasn't just anybody – it was the Thief girl. She was lying very still on the ground, except for a fierce trembling, eyes closed. He backed up, got to his feet and started to walk away.

She was only a Thief and –

"_Are y'okay?... _Venez, _I'll take t'mah house. Mama an' _Tante_'ll know what ta do."_

The thought of a delicate face surrounded by thick auburn waves and big grey-green eyes stopped him dead in his tracks. Rocking back and forth on his heels, the young Assassin struggled with his feelings, training, and memories. What made everything worse was the little voice that had come into his head right around the time Sofya had come to the Institute, the voice that hissed when he snapped and fought with the Thieves and purred when he ate their food and fought beside them. He still couldn't understand what the stupid thing was saying, but it was hissing loudly at him.

Fuck.

His mother was going to crucify him.

**What do you think? How should Denzel die? I know you're all seriously pissed at him so tell me now!**

**Now REVIEW!**

_**Non, chère – **_**"No, dear/darling"**

_**Pourquoi pas?**_**– "Why not?"**

_**Je te promise **_**– "I promise (you)"**

_**Comprends **_**– "You understand?"**

_**Mais oui**_**– "Of course"**

_**Bête fil **_**– "Stupid boy"**

_**Double merde**_** – "Double shit"**

_**Bouge-toi maintenant!**_**– "Move now!"**


	38. Chapter 38

**My longest chapter ever, so I hope you all appreciate it!**

**For your consideration...**

Chapter 37

Backlash laughed grimly when the final Sentinel lost its head to Wolverine and Talon's claws. Finally.

"Well," Blayze said with his usual briskness. "That was dangerous and deadly fun. Can we go home and sleep now?"

"I think a stop at the medbay would also be best," Atlas said, glancing at a flushed Sarah, who was being supported by Jayden as a hole in her stomach slowly healed itself, and Denzel who was holding his head as a stream of blood trickled steadily into his eye.

"_Où est Noelle?" _Lucien asked, looking around.

"I saw her get hit by one of the Sentinels," Laura said, even as she hurried to see to her daughter. "She'll be alright."

"Laura's right," Cyclops said. "She's probably just dazed somewhere. But you should call her just in case."

Lucien nodded and reached into the inside pocket of his denim jacket. A quick hit on his speed dial and suddenly he was listening to an automated woman saying: "I'm sorry. The number you are dialing is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again."

Oh.

Oh no.

Shit.

He dialed his sister's number and waited.

"I'm sorry. The number you are dialing is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again."

He cursed so badly that even Wolverine turned to look at him.

"What's wrong, Cajun?"

"Noelle ain' pickin' up her cell."

"She's probably a little distracted," Cyclops said dismissively. "Or her cell's broken."

Lucien fought the urge to punch the righteous prick's teeth in. "Guild phones don' break. 'S what separates us from Sprint. Dey can' go t'rough one o' Pere's explosions an' still work. Ain' no reason it should be broken. If i's broken, den so's Noelle."

"Hey," James said, turning his head this way and that. "Where's Vincent?"

Lucien thought he was going to be sick.

* * *

Vincent knelt beside the Thief. She looked remarkably small and fragile looking, her face tense and harsh. "T'ief girl?"

She moaned but didn't move or open her eyes.

"T'ief girl? 'S _moi, c'est Vincent_. C'n y' open y' eyes?"

No response except for a soft whimper.

Hand reaching out carefully, he patted her cheek lightly. "T'ief?"

She whimpered again, but this time managed to open her eyes. They were no longer the brilliant metallic emerald-silver, but now the soft, hazy grey-green. "_Maman_?"

His stomach clenched at how young and weak she sounded – not to mention those telltale eyes – how the hell had he not seen it before? "C'mon, T'ief. Focus fo' _moi_."

He shook her gently and jerked backwards when she stiffened and let out a dull wail of agony. Cussing furiously in two languages, he tried to calm her down. "T'ief, _ça va_?"

But she had gone back to staring past him, eyes cloudy with pain, and whimpering, though now he could understand some of it and it was making him sick listening to her call almost noiselessly for her mother.

"T'ief, y' got' get up, _comprends_? We got' find _ton frère_ an' den we can' find Monica, _d'accord_? She c'n heal y' up."

No response.

He… he could just leave her… a little face superimposed itself on hers… no. He was going to repay his debt – Thief or no, if she was the same girl, then he owed her.

Cupping her chin, he directed her face to look directly into his. "T'ief!"

Nothing.

"T'ief girl? Um… Noelle? Noelle, c'n y' hear _moi_?"

Something seemed to shift in her eyes and she looked from the space beyond them both to right at him. "Nnn?"

He leaned a little closer and spoke as clearly as he could, his eyes and his grip on her chin never wavering. "_Noelle LeBeau, peux-tu m'entendre_?"

She was now looking straight at him, though it took a moment for her to croak out a, "Yeah."

"_Tu as besoin de te lever. __Comprends? Peux-tu voler_?"

She took a long time in answering. "No… Cain'…" she took a deep shuddering breath. "Cain' flah…"

Great. "_D'accord_, we got ta walk den. Can y' stan'?"

"Y' gon'… haveta… help meh up."

He wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders and sat her up. To his lasting horror, he felt something like a crunch from her ribs under his fingers.

The Thief made a terrible noise and tears slid down her face but she made no complaint.

"Oh God, please tell me yo' ribs ain' broke."

"Don' lie…" a dry sob. "Today."

"Yo' sho' y' cain' fly?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she gripped his arms in a grip that told him she still had her enhanced strength and very slowly tried to pull herself to her feet. Despite the fact that she was obviously trying not to complain, she was making soft, anguished noises under her breath, and every moment was punctuated with sharp, pained gasps, soft cries, sobs and whimpers.

Vincent would later wonder how she had gotten to her feet – he had barely been able to sit upright when his mother had broken _his_ ribs – and walked. True, he was supporting most of her weight, though he suspected he was only paining her more since the only parts of her he seemed to be really touching were her ribs.

"We got' ta find Monica."

Her voice was sounding dangerously thready. "She… Institute… got… there…"

She was shaking so badly he was shocked that she was even coherent.

"Dis a mistake," he said at last. "Yo' hurt. We shouldn' be movin' y'. I call da ot'ers, _d'accord_? I call _ton frère_. Where's yo' phone?"

Her head weakly shook from side to side. "Broke."

"Like yo' ribs?"

A tiny nod.

"_D'accord_. We use my phone. Lie down. Easy now." He lay her down as gently as possible, noting that only one side of her rib cage was crumpled in. The right side.

She coughed suddenly and he saw a tinge of redness on her teeth. "Tell _moi_ dat ain' blood."

A weak smile. "Ain' lyin' today."

He cursed and wrenched his cellphone out of his pocket. Miraculously it was still working, even though the screen was smashed. "Give meh yo' brot'er's number."

One by one, she listed off numbers, stopping to cough wetly once in a while.

"_Ca va_?"

"T'ink… bleedin' inta mah lungs…" She was white as paper now, her breath so shallow he was beginning to panic.

"Jus' hold on. I's ringin'."

The phone hadn't rung more than once when he heard the Thief boy say, "Noelle?"

"No. _C'est moi_."

The Thief started to say something but Vincent didn't give him a chance. "_Ecoute_. Yo' sisteh's here. Somet'in's wrong wit' her ribs – broke, I t'ink. Don' know where we are, but y' need ta get here fast. She ain' lookin' so good."

Another fit of coughing shook the Thief and he managed to spit out, "_Merde!_ Get yo' ass ovah here, LeBeau, less y' wan' a corpse foh a sisteh," before hanging up.

He rolled her over and watched helplessly as she coughed and whimpered alternately as blood splattered into the mud.

When it finally stopped, he helped her roll back onto her uninjured left side.

"Don' worry," he said, just to say something. "Dey be here soon."

"Hurts."

"I bet."

"Really hurts."

"I had my ribs broke befoh."

"Eveh… flah… wit' em?"

"No."

"Hurts… lahke hell."

"Should y' be talkin'?"

"If Ah don'…" gasping sob "Ah concentrate… onleh on… da pain…"

He didn't know what possessed him to scoot closer and take one of her hands, but the soft squeeze he received told him she appreciated it. "It'll be okay."

"Y' got… blood in… yo' hair."

"_Ouais_, jus' a scratch."

"Sho'…Wha'd y'… t'ink 'bout… dis… yeah's… Mardi Gras?"

"Wildeh dan usual."

What would have been a laugh turned into coughs and sobs of pain.

"Noelle!" came a familiar voice.

Vincent tried to stand up and get away from the downed Thief but her hand tightened on his like a vice and he knelt down instead.

"Don' leave."

"I ain'."

Her brother arrived beside them in a spray of dirt, Wolverine a step or two behind him. "Noelle, _chère_! Wha' happened?"

Vincent didn't have to turn around to see that the Thief was giving him a deadly glare.

"Got hit."

"Bah what?"

"Sentinel…" her voice broke into a gasp of agony.

"I's da right side o' her ribs," Vincent reported quickly. "She says she's bleedin' inta her lungs."

There was outbreak of cursing around them and Atlas stepped forward. "I could carry her…"

"_Absolument pas_," Vincent said flatly. "Ribs're in pieces, dat'd jus' make it worse."

"He's right," Wolverine barked. "That's why I called in a chopper from the government. They owe it to us for sendin' that crap at us."

On cue, there was a dull noise of helicopter blades beating at the air and they could all see airborne lights approaching.

It took only minutes for the chopper to arrive and land, by which time Wolverine was already barking out orders. "Me, Cajun, Laura, and Shades'll go in the chopper with Mouse here –"

"No…"

Everyone fell silent at the LeBeau girl's words.

"Wan' Vincent… he come… too…"

Wolverine looked taken aback, but did not argue. "Right. Shades, you stay here –"

"No, Wolverine," Cyclops said firmly. "I was put in charge –"

"O' da team, not us," the Thief boy snarled. "An' if it was 'tween y' an' Logan, heah, Mama an' Père'd pick Logan. He call da shots o' we stay heah."

A sour look spread on the visored man and Wolverine took full advantage. "Now that that's settled, how're we gonna get ya into the chopper, Mouse?"

* * *

Noelle didn't remember being carried onto the helicopter or the flight to the Institute. She just felt wonderfully light as they flew and held very tight to Vincent and Luke's hands. She also knew that Luke kept giving Vincent suspicious looks but that he was too worried about her to pay him any real attention.

Beast and Sage were waiting with a stretcher on the lawn when they touched down in the front yard. She had to say goodbye to her brother and Vincent as they rushed her into the medbay.

"How do you feel, Noelle?" Beast asked, blue face lined with concern.

"A series of broken ribs would indicate that she is feeling unimaginable pain and extreme discomfort. Wolverine also informed us she was bleeding into her lungs – this would indicate that she is slowly drowning in her own blood and her lung is in danger of collapsing. It would be best to summon Monica."

Sage's babble was almost comforting; it distracted her from the – was there a stronger word for pain than complete agony? – in her side.

Through the haze of intense torture emanating from her side, she heard herself ask for someone to call her mother. Another spasm of coughing sent blood splashing over her jeans and she was unable to focus on anything else until the hacking subsided.

They had arrived at the medbay and Beast was now muttering over how to get morphine into her. Sage meanwhile had called Monica and told her to run down to the medbay. Then she took out a rack of vials, each marked as morphine.

"You will take this by mouth," Sage/Tessa was telling her. "We will give you just enough to slightly dull the pain until Monica arrives and heals you. Due to her past performance, I estimate she will be able to reverse the damage to your lung and possibly reduce the damage to ribs to mild to severe fractures. It is highly improbable that she will be able to heal you completely. Once we have established the state of your ribs after she heals you, we will administer another dose of morphine."

"_D'accord_… will y' call…?"

The analytical look in the older woman's eyes softened slightly. "One moment. Dr. McCoy, the morphine."

While Noelle struggled to swallow the contents of the vial being offered to her by Beast, Sage dialed once again. Once she had finished the first vial, she heard her mother's raised voice coming from the telephone.

"Your mother," Sage said with long suffering patience, holding the phone to Noelle's ear.

"_Maman_?"

"Noelle? Noelle! Oh, sugah! What happened? No, don't answeh that, Luke said it hurt ya ta talk. Baby, d'ya need us ta come up there? Swamp rat, wait ya turn! Ah gave birth, Ah talk first!"

"Ah'm… okay… considerin'."

"Ya ain' all right! At all! Oh, sweetpea… well, ya daddy's here an' he wants ta talk ta ya. You call us as soon as you can, 'kay?"

"_D'accord._"

"Love ya, sugah."

"_Je t'aime, Maman_."

And then her father was on the phone, tense and worried. "How y' feelin', _chère_?"

"Lahke crap."

"C'n imagine. Dat 'Ssasin do dis t' y'?"

"No… helped _moi_… 'is phone… it broke… c'd… c'd y' get…" she broke off in a harsh sob.

"Petite?" she could practically hear her father accidently charging the phone.

"_Du calme… Ca va_, Daddy… c'd y'… c'd y' get 'im… a Guild phone?"

There was a long pause on the other line.

"Wit' no… taps o' GPS…"

"If da's wha' y' wan', _m'amouré_."

"_Oui… je le veux_."

"_D'accord_, da 'Ssassin Prince get a Guild phone when y' get yo's. But try an' make sho' he don' know i's Guild."

"_D'accord_… mmm… drugs kickin' in…"

"Good, rest now, _chère_. We call y' in da mornin' so _Tante_ c'n yell at y'."

"'Kay… Nahght, _Père_."

"_Je t'adore, petite_."

"_Et moi aussi_."

* * *

Lucien went very still. "_D'accord_, Noelle. T'anks f' tellin' moi."

Turning neatly on his heel, the slightly numb Cajun marched out of the medbay, along the hall, and met Alexei, James, Jayden and the Assassin. He barely needed to get out five words when he had three willing allies – even the Assassin went very still and cold though he did not accompany them. Then it was off to find Denzel.

The guy looked around at them from the stool in the kitchen where he was holding an ice pack to his head. "What do you losers want?"

And so Lucien did the most rational and reasonable thing he could think of. He broke the bastard's nose with one fist and then the jaw with the other.

The son of a bitch fell to the ground, howling and cursing, with a crash. Normally Lucien would have tried to do this more quietly but tonight he didn't give a flying rat's ass.

Denzel tried crawling away and found his way barred by the stony faced young men around him, all of whom looked as though they could cheerfully murder him. Which left him trapped by a fully enraged Thief. "What? What's your problem?"

"CAJUN!" Wolverine roared, coming into the kitchen like a hurricane, Laura, Bishop and Cyclops close behind. "What the hell are you doing?"

It was a testament to how serious and furious the guys were when they didn't get out of their Canadian teacher's way.

"H-h-he…" Lucien couldn't even speak properly, fury was choking him. Maybe he could knock the bastard out and send him down to New Orleans – he could only imagine the kinds of tortures that his family would wreak upon the cheating, traitorous little worm.

"What? What did he do?"

"He let it hit her."

Logan went white. Then red.

Laura's claws came sliding out ominously.

Bishop started flexing his fists.

"Get him outta here, Lucien," gritted Wolverine. "Blow his ass out of here!"

"Logan!" Cyclops barked. "That's not the way to handle this!"

"An' what is?" Lucien demanded, shaking. "Give 'im mo' Danger Room sessions? Make him wax da jet? What if he'd hurt Alana, o' Sarah, o' Dawn?"

The visored man went absolutely still, a muscle working in his jaw. Lucien hadn't meant to bring little Dawn – the spitting image of the late Jean Grey-Summers – into this, but if they were back home, there would have been people screaming for this bastard's death. There might even have been a call for lynching, for God's sake. The only reason he himself hadn't already killed this lowlife was that he knew Noelle would not like knowing that someone had died because of her, even if he royally deserved it.

"Fine. Blast him. But keep him on the grounds."

He had sent the grumbling sack of shit flying before the words had finished leaving Scott's mouth.

"Alright, Lucien," Wolverine said, giving the new hole in the wall a wrathful look that promised more pain when Denzel came back. "Go get your sister and call the parents. But make sure they stay at home – don't need Stripes or Gumbo charging up here to kill the bastard before I get a crack at him in the Danger Room."

This had to be the reason, Lucien mused later, why his mother loved Wolverine and his father was extremely leery of him. But he was sure as hell good to have around when you needed someone at your back.

* * *

Vincent left the medbay waiting room after the scowls from the Thieves became too much to handle. They couldn't just accept that he had saved their sister? Granted, he wouldn't have believed it a few hours ago either, but still! Was it too much to believe that he was actually, legitimately, worried about her?

He didn't go to his room, though, he went to the library. Walking into the dusty, untouched dictionary section, he reached behind a huge Webster's and took out a small leather book.

The LeBeau girl's diary. Right where he had hidden it.

Sinking into a nearby chair, heedless of the late hour, he started from the beginning. She had gone to France in the hopes of completing her Thief training and she wrote of the Triumphal Arch and the Eiffel Tower with a respectful admiration. She described the Thieves' Guild of Paris, though she didn't tell where it was located. She wrote about how she didn't like her grandfather always trying to manipulate her into becoming a Thief. There were passages detailing how she had gone to the Louvre and talked with art lovers such as a Madame Nicole and Belle, the Monsieur Papillion and his wife Amora, a Mademoiselle Victoria, the daughters of a Monsieur Richard, and Madame Marie Michel, among others.

He remembered in the summer of last year that quite a few priceless works of art from the Louvre and other museums, almost all of which were mentioned, had disappeared mysteriously for two weeks and then been returned just as mysteriously. Some of those works had included the Winged Nike of Samothrace, the Venus de Milo, a statue of Cupid and one of his lovers, most of the works by Leonardo da Vinci and a few by Raphael and Caravaggio.

He could guess who had been behind that.

Smiling a bit, he read on. The book told how she had received her Master's mark, described what it looked like, and what it meant. Then there were a few words of her flight back home, her family's antics. Something about her mother throwing something very big and very explosive at her father.

Some quick recipes scribbled down and then she wrote how much she was glad to be back at the Institute. She spoke of her kids and how much she had missed them. There were notes of who was obviously in love with who, complaints and criticisms – all deserved – about Scott and Charles Summers, comments about training and then…

There he was.

_We got a new student today. It was Vincent Boudreaux of the Assassins' Guild. I was kind of hoping that he would recognize me – or at least our cross – but it didn't even attract his attention. There's so much stupid purpose around him it's giving me a headache. Actually… no. Purpose I could live with, though it would make him more dangerous. It's the anger, the kind of anger and hatred that just burns until it eats you up inside. It's like his mother's and almost as bad as Mystique's. _

_He wasn't gotten any uglier. He's incredibly hot, and I'm almost tempted to put a little charm on him. But I won't. Damn morals._

_Well, he's going to be here a while – it isn't like Luke or I, or even Claire for that matter, are easy targets. I wonder what Mademoiselle Boudreaux was thinking, sending her only son here to get us without any backup. It seems incredibly stupid._

_I have to say though, I hope he doesn't take our cross back. It's brought me incredible good luck – I remember I was a disaster without it. I'd like to think that it was just me and I've never told anyone about this but I think he was right about it being lucky. I'll be sorry to lose it. But it is his and like I told him: I don't want payment for doing right._

_It's a little depressing that he didn't recognize me, but if he didn't recognize me when he was chasing me – actually, no. That's not fair. I barely recognized him and I knew who he was from the beginning. It would've been nice to actually be able to talk to him but I guess his mother got into his head too much for that to ever happen._

_And to think, all of this because her brother challenging my father to a duel. _

_This is going to be an interesting year. _

_If Lucien and Vincent don't kill each other – did I mention that they hated each other's guts on sight?_

And on it went. Passages about school entered into it and how her headaches were starting up again. _Gotta be careful. I don't want a repeat of what happened to the guy across the street – even if the bastard did deserve it._

"Vincent!"

He jumped up, startled, and then shoved the book out of sight. Storm was coming towards him, looking exhausted. "_Oui_?"

"You are covered in blood!"

Belatedly, he remembered his wounds and felt his head, his back and his stomach. "I seem to be in one piece, Mam'selle."

"Come along to the medbay so Dr. McCoy can take a look at you. He's just finished up with Denzel."

Vincent remembered the Thief boy's wild look as he glanced up at a clock as he stood up. It was four hours after they had arrived back at the Institute. He found himself caught between fierce pleasure that the girl's brother had made sure the injuries were so severe and a startling bit of disappointment that he hadn't been able to help beat the crap out of the bastard.

"Luke LeBeau blasted Denzel through a wall."

"Good."

Storm nodded, her eyes like ice chips. "It seems that Mr. Hawkins allowed the attack that broke Noelle's ribs. He is no longer on the X-Men team and the Professor is debating sending him home, after Wolverine and the rest of the staff give him a parting Danger Room Session. He has enough control over his powers to keep him from being a threat to the public."

"Why y' tellin' _moi_ dis?"

A wry smile stretched across the woman's face. "Because this is the Xavier Institute and by noon today everyone in the school will have their own version of what is happening. Considering what you did for Noelle, I would say that you deserve to know."

The Assassin Prince was taken aback by this. "_Merci_."

"_De rien_. Now come along so you can get to bed before the sun rises."

* * *

The medbay was dark and filled with the gentle sound of electric beeping. It was soothing on Vincent's nerves and he recognized a huge mass of bandages as Denzel, the slender form of Sarah, and the longer, more graceful body on the far bed.

Beast's examination took less than ten minutes. The doctor checked where his wounds should have been, declared them completely healed, checked his blood pressure, heart rate and took a bit of his blood to check for any infection. Once finished, Vincent was given a pair of pajamas and told to get into a remaining bed.

He took one next to the LeBeau girl.

The hospital bed was surprisingly comfortable and he had to keep himself from nodding off from sheer exhaustion and soreness. Instead, he watched as the light in the office went off and everything became completely still except for the beeping.

"Vince?" came a slurred voice from the bed beside him. "Y'awake?"

"_Ouais_."

"Y'alrahght?"

"Tired."

"Da's good… y'still mad at meh?"

He sat up and looked at her. Through the darkness he could see her looking at him, eyes heavy and sleepy. "_Non_… but why didn' y' give it back when we met again in August?"

She giggled. "Y said y'd fahnd meh… Didn' fahnd meh until tahnahght…"

His hand wandered to the cross around his neck. "Y' feelin' okay?"

"Mmm-hmm… Dey gave meh drugs… makes all da pain go away… Monica healed mah lungs an' stuff an' now Ah jus' got some fractured ribs."

"She gon' finish healin' 'em?"

"_Mais non_! Ah got' get used ta healin' on mah own."

There was a moment of comfortable silence.

"Vince?"

"Yeah?"

"_Merci pour la croix_. Gave meh luck jus' lahke y' said…" her voice trailed off. "_Merci_…"

"T'ief? Noelle?"

A soft sigh but nothing else.

He silently slid his legs out from under the blankets and pulled the cross off from over his head. Standing by her bed, he could see she was asleep.

"I was t'inkin', Noelle. Seems ta _moi_ dat y' weren' much good 'thout da cross. Why don' y' keep it?" With infinite care he slipped the cross and chain around her neck, his fingers lingering on her soft skin. "'Sides, all pretty girls should get beads on Mardi Gras – but I ain' got none so dis'll have ta do."

Feeling rather embarrassed, Vincent hurried back to his own bed and was struck with object horror when a badly slurred but contented voice said, "Ahlahke… da…way… y'say… mah name…"

"_Ferme-la_ an' go ta sleep, LeBeau."

"Will…y'say…i'gain?"

"Shut up… Noelle."

***Cracks knuckles* Phew! Done! What do you think? Don't review all at once now - actually, do! At 300 reviews you all get an early chapter!!! YEAH!!!**

**PS - when Noelle's talking about all those people she met in her diary, she's actually chronicling the many, many, many, things she stole while she was in France. Just thought you should know.**

_**Où est Noelle? **_**– "Where is Noelle?"**

_**C'est Vincent **_**– "It's Vincent"**

_**ça va**_** – "Are you alright?"**

_**Noelle LeBeau, peux-tu m'entendre**_**? – "Noelle LeBeau, can you hear me?"**

_**Tu as besoin de te lever. **__**Comprends? Peux-tu voler**_**? – "You need to get up. Do you understand? Can you fly?"**

_**Ecoute **_**– "Listen"**

_**Absolument pas**_** – "Absolutely not"**

_**Je t'aime, Maman **_**– "I love you, Mama"**

_**Du calme… Ca va**_** – "Calm down… I'm okay"**

_**m'amouré**_** – "my love"**

_**Oui… je le veux**_** – "Yes… ****I want it"**

_**Mais non**_** – "Of course not"**

_**Merci pour la croix**_** – "Thanks for the cross"**

_**Ferme-la**_** – "Shut it"**


	39. Chapter 39

**Well, I'm back. **

**Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

Chapter 38

The medbay was so quiet, Noelle's first fuzzy thought was that she must be dead. But no, her chest muscles were too painful and stiff for her to be dead. She sat up very slowly and carefully and turned to look around. Denzel, the backstabbing bastard, was still unconscious, and Sarah and Vincent were both gone.

"Noelle? Are you awake?" Dr. McCoy asked from the doctor's office.

"Unfortunately." She managed to stand up and walk. Her fingers were busily twisting themselves in something and a quick glance revealed to be Vincent's cross. She smiled.

"Oh, very good, you can walk," Beast said, poking his head out from his office and beckoning to her. "Please come in and sit down so we can give you a quick checkup."

She sighed, took herself into the office and sat on the examining table, which her ribs did not appreciate. Dr. McCoy had her take off her shirt and very carefully felt her ribs, before giving her an X-ray. In an hour she was released holding fresh bandages for her chest, a sling for her right arm, and orders to ice her injured side for about twenty minutes every two hours and to take her painkillers every four hours with food.

"How long Ah been asleep anyways? Wha' tahme is it?"

Beast consulted his watch. "Let's see… it is one in the afternoon… you have been sleeping for approximately ten hours."

"Mmm… dose drugs did a number on meh. How's everybodeh else?"

"Everybody is alright – except for Mr. Hawkins over there. Sarah had a nasty wound in her stomach but it was healed by this morning. I had Vincent stay overnight to make sure he didn't have an infection, but now I'm starting to think that boy could put himself back together if Logan cut him into bacon."

A laugh escaped her and immediately she groaned in pain.

"Deep breaths, now Noelle! If you just take shallow breaths, you could develop pneumonia."

"Don' wan' dat." She made an effort to breathe deeply and ended up coughing.

"That's good – don't hesitate to cough. Now. You should hurry and go upstairs – Luke and the others have been climbing the walls waiting for you to wake up and I know your parents are on edge."

She grinned, shook the doctor's hand since she couldn't hug him and took the elevator up to the second floor to clean up. Taking a shower felt glorious, though it made the black-blue bruise across her side even more noticeable and she had to be very gentle when scrubbing.

But it was worth it to be clean again.

It took a while to put on the bandages for her ribs and slip her loosest shirt on. God, getting dressed was going to be a pain – literally. Damn it, she hated puns.

* * *

Vincent was sprawled out on the living room sofa, exhausted but unable to sleep due to the buzzing in his brain. He kicked his heels against the cushions in time with his thoughts.

Somewhere between putting the cross back where it belonged – a Boudreaux heirloom around a LeBeau neck, his ancestors were doing Exorcist impersonations wherever they were – and falling asleep, he had come to the conclusion that he could not kill the LeBeau girl. Never mind that they were technically even now, what with him having stayed with her and helped her when she was suffering and all, he had had enough nightmares about that little girl – no, the _LeBeau_ girl – dying to even consider trying to do anything.

That begged the question of what he was supposed to tell his mother. Would she understand if he told her?

_Quel une blague drôle!_

If he didn't do it, his mother would see that as blatant disobedience and send someone else to kill them and this time his name would be beside theirs as names of the condemned. He couldn't say no… lying about it would get him into more trouble than he wanted to imagine… could he just… not say anything? Just act like he was still trying?

He paused in his kicking of the sofa and sat up. That would work… in the short term, but it would buy him some time to figure out what to do…

"_Bonjour, mes amis._" The LeBeau girl was standing in the doorway, her right arm in a sling and looking a hundred times better than she had last night. As usual, she was surrounded by her kids, all of whom seemed to be fighting over a chance to hold her uninjured hand.

"Noelle!" her brother and sister were at her side in a heartbeat, hugging her carefully.

"Hope dis means you gon' call _les parentes_," the Thief said lightly, releasing his sister. "Dey been callin' nonstop an' y' kin bet _Tante_'s gon' have yo' ass once you go down dere."

"Incentive fo' meh t' stay up here den. Now, Luke-_cher_, y' know what Ah'm gon' ask?"

"Ah don' need y' t' tell moi an' yeah, it came…"

At this point, he zoned out and reached a hand into the bag at his side. He pushed the diary (okay, so he was reading her diary but it was funny and she was good writer and technically it wasn't her diary anymore since she had a new one) further down and tugged out a new sketchpad. Opening it to a fresh page, he expertly put down her face in a few quick lines.

The cheekbones…

The chin…

The mouth…

The nose…

The thick soft hair…

Repositioning his pencil, he made a few vague motions that never quite touched the paper. Now for the eyes…

"_Bonjour_, Vincent."

The book snapped shut in his hands at once and he looked up at the girl. "T'ief."

"Y' gave _moi_ yo' cross back."

"Non, non, I give ya yo' cross back. Ain' been mahne since I give it t' y'. Wha' y' don' wan' it no more?"

She gave him a smile that made his insides go still. "_Mais oui!_ Looks bettah on meh anyways."

"Don' know 'bout dat now, but it does complete da look…"

They were silent for a moment before she spoke again. "_Merci, Vincent._"

Vincent shifted and averted his eyes. "Dis where we s'pposed t' hug?"

"_Mon Dieu_, Ah hope not, mah ribs still hurt lahke hell. But dis is where Ah say we even now."

"Even?"

"As in you don' owe meh nut'in' now an' Ah don' owe y' nut'in'. Even."

"Good t' know."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile again and turn away. Words were abruptly spilling out of his mouth. "Don' t'ink we completely even."

She looked over her shoulder at him, winced, and turned completely to face him. "Realleh? How's dat?"

He decided to skate over that question – he didn't have an answer for it anyway – and pressed on, "Y' still owe meh."

Luckily, she did not ask for what she owed him for. "An' wha' d'y' wan'?"

For a moment he considered about how to put this, before settling on, "I wan' a model."

"A model?"

He waved his sketchpad. "A model fo' my drawin'…"

A slender, graceful eyebrow arched upwards. "Ah sincerely hope you don' t'ink Ah be gettin' naked, even foh art."

And the experienced ladies' man of New Orleans began to sputter incoherently. "N-non! Y- no… y' kin… y' kin keep 'em on…"

She laughed and planted her uninjured fist on her hip. Her chin came down a bit and she smirked. "Y' drawin' a demon?"

Instantly, sharp irritation cut through his discomfort and nervousness. Even worse than that, a dark flush of embarrassment was spreading across the back of his neck as he remembered his words to her a few months ago. "_Non_. A goddess."

Another laugh colored the air and she sat gingerly beside him and blew her bangs out of her eyes. "Well, dat's fittin'. Ah am pretty easy on da eyes. _D'accord_, y' got y'self a model."

Fighting back the irrational surge of pleasure, he nodded. "_Merci._"

"Oh yeah." She took something out of her pocket and tossed it at him. "Dis came fo' y' oveh-nahght mail."

It was a small box postmarked with a New Orleans stamp, addressed to him. Ripping it open he found a small, sleek, black cell phone that turned on noiselessly and, even stranger, had his ringtone, background, number and even contacts and speed dial preprogrammed. There was no paper from his cell phone company or service provider… there was however a voice mail waiting for him.

To his horror, when he opened it up, he found himself listening to the same voice he had heard last night: Gambit. _"Bonjour, Vincent Boudreaux. Je pense que vous savez qui c'est. Merci pour sauver Noelle. Elle a dit que son mobile a cassé hier soir quand vous l'aidiez. Voici ton nouveau mobile avec ni des micros ni un GPS. Gardez-le et ne dites pas Noelle de ce. Et savez si vous faites mal à mes filles, moi et ma femme allons tuer vos à la façon pire nous pouvons rêver de. __Au revoir."_

Which left him staring at the unmarked Guild phone with both awe and terror.

Mental note: never meet this guy.

He shoved the phone into his pocket.

* * *

After dinner that night, Noelle finished putting her children to bed and hurried downstairs to the living room where the rest of the elder student body of the Institute was already gathered along with the instructors.

"Now that we are all here," Professor Xavier said from his seat by the fireplace. "I think it is time we are all brought up to speed about what happened last night."

'_Bout tahme,_ she thought sourly, touching her tender side.

"As I am sure you have all heard by now, yesterday afternoon, the Marauders were broken out by a masked man in red. SHIELD would not comment on who this mysterious man was –"

"It was Deadpool," Bishop said flatly. "My CO told me that he had been masquerading as one of the soldiers and just suddenly ripped off the uniform and started cutting up the guards yesterday. They shot him repeatedly and whatever he didn't knock away with his swords hit him in some vital area, but he just kept going. They've got a hell of a lot of his blood at SHIELD and they're trying to track him down with it."

A grim smile played around his lips. "Considering there aren't too many guys as deformed as that freak running around, I doubt they're not gonna need it, but they're running DNA tests anyway."

Bishop was silent for a long moment before hurrying on. "They've asked for blood samples from all of the students…"

There was an instant uproar of fury and it took a sharp mental remonstration from the Professor to calm them all down.

"Lucas," Xavier said sharply. "Why does SHIELD want the blood of my students?"

The operative shifted uncomfortably. "They want to test it against the blood they collected from Deadpool and the other Marauders."

"Do they expect to find them in our house?" Jubilee demanded.

Noelle stretched out with her empathy and felt around. She sorted through the anger, disbelief and mounting fear of her friends and the growing unease that was oozing from the teachers.

The Professor was speaking to Bridget now. "What can you tell us?"

"What belongs to the castle stays in the castle. If the wizards in black and cloaked in stars wish to get the elixir to study, the wizards will search for cracks in the walls."

Noelle nodded – that wasn't too difficult to decipher. A quick glance around the room said that everyone else had gotten it as well.

"That settles that," Logan said flatly. "They ain't comin' in."

"All in favor?" Bobby called again.

Hands went up and Bishop went off to inform his superiors with a bleak, "They're not going to like this."

"Well, now that that's taken care of, we can go on to another equally serious subject." The Professor looked uncharacteristically solemn. "Denzel Washington Hawkins. Please stand up."

The bastard she was no longer mentioning stepped forward. One leg was in a splint, both arms were in casts, a mass of bandages were looped around his chest, and a huge bandage across his forehead.

"I see Logan's Danger Room session was not kind to you – though I do hope that he allowed you to heal before putting you through all of that."

"I healed him, Professor," Monica volunteered, even as she gave the disgraced an evil glance.

"And now we must decide what action to take against you. Are you aware of the crime we are putting against you?"

"Teaching that bitch a lesson?"

Noelle felt the temperature in the room take a nosedive – Bobby Drake was grinding his teeth.

"Easy there, Popsicle," Logan growled even as he tested the tips of his claws against the palm of his opposite hand.

"Denzel, do you deny that you purposely allowed a Sentinel to strike Noelle?"

"So I stepped outta the way. She survived – besides, a girl shouldn't be out there doing a man's work anyway!"

"This is a very serious offence, Denzel. You allowed a teammate to be severely injured and you are showing no remorse whatsoever. This merits expulsion from the team and expulsion from the Institute."

"Because of that bitch?"

Noelle stepped forward to grab her brother's arm. Storm was trying to restrain Logan. Alex Masters-Summers had his arms around his wife's waist. Bishop was closing his fists ominously. Alexei was starting to heft the love seat experimentally.

"That will do. Denzel Hawkins, you are hereby expelled from my Institute – by the end of this month you and your belongings must be out of this house indefinitely."

"_What?!"_ Denzel leapt to his feet. "You can't do that!"

"This is a school, Denzel," the Professor said with unexpected coldness. "You endangered one of my students and if you have any intention of doing something like this ever again – which I am sensing that you are – you have no place here."

The six foot boy turned with a snarl on Noelle. "This is your fault! If you hadn't –"

"An' if y' take anot'er step closer t' _ma petite soeur_," Luke said coldly. "Dey be shippin' y' back t' Detroit in a box."

"What? You're going to kill me?"

"No. _We_ will kill you," Alexei growled.

She loved it here.

* * *

Being a model is boring as hell, Noelle wrote in her notebook as Vincent sat on the other side of the sofa sketching furiously. You can't move anymore than he asks you to and you can't even talk because he says it's distracting.

"So…"

"_Quoi? Peux-je parler maintenant?_"

Vincent twitched. "Anybody tell y' y' annoyin' as hell?"

"Strangely enough, mon frère tells moi dat on a daily basis."

"I bet," he muttered, ducking behind his sketchpad.

Noelle leaned closer to him, "Wha' were y' gon' ask moi?"

Dark blue eyes scowled at her over the book. "I was gon' ask y' if y'd decided t' take dat AP exam."

She turned neatly in her seat and faced him smoothly, one leg folded up beneath her and the other dangling over the edge of the sofa. Her ribs were slightly sore but she'd already taken her pain medication. "_Mais oui!_ 'Course Ah am. Alreadeh paid an' everyt'in'! _Et toi_? Y' takin' it?"

"T'inkin' 'bout it…"

He was debating asking her something else – she could sense it in his curiosity and nervousness.

"Dere somet'in' else?"

"Y' ain' asked _moi_ 'bout if I'm gon' keep tryin' ta kill _toi_ o' _ton frère o ta soeur._"

Ah, so that was it. Hmmm… that was as interesting question. Noelle closed her book and set it neatly in her lap, flexing the fingers on her right hand and wishing her ribs were fully healed. "No. Don' s'pose Ah have."

"_Pouquoi non?_"

Cocking her head at him, she grinned wickedly. "'Cause y' ain' shown meh a drawin' yet."

The look on his face, coupled with the feelings of shock, confusion and disbelief, made her laugh. As his look of alarm worsened, her laughter got louder, much to the dismay of her aching ribs.

Something niggled at her consciousness and she looked up to see a most interesting expression spreading across his face. He looked as though he was fighting a smile. This caused another burst of giggles her chest didn't appreciate. And then another sound joined her laugh.

Vincent leaned over the back of the arm of the sofa as he howled with laughter.

It took a long, long time for them to get themselves under control, at which time, the tears trickling down Noelle's cheeks weren't strictly from mirth.

"So…" she gasped. "Y' still gon' kill us, Vince?"

"Name ain' Vince," he growled with no real venom. "'S Vincent."

"Ah know what yo' name is," she said, leaning back on the sofa. "Now wha's y' answer t' ma question?"

He sighed. "No. I ain' gon' kill y'. O' y' brotheh o' sisteh."

"_Pourquoi pas?_"

There was a long moment of silence before he abruptly huffed and shoved the notebook at her. "Jus' take a look at da damn sketch."

She took it with a smirk. A look of interest crossed her face. "Hmmm."

"_Quoi?_"

"Hmm."

"Wha's 'hmm'?"

"'Hmm' is hmm."

"Wha's dat say 'bout mah drawin'?"

"What d' y' say 'bout why y' not killin' us?"

"I'd t'ink y'd jus' be grateful I ain' killin' y'all."

"_Mes parentes_ always tol' _moi_ t' reach f' what Ah wan', no' jus' what people're willin' t' give _moi_."

"But I ain' gon' tell y'. Now what d'y' t'ink."

She stared at the elegant lines that made up her drawn face. She examined each line and finally looked up at the artist with all the seriousness she could muster.

"Hmm."

**REVIEW PLEASE!**

_**Quel une blague drôle!**_** – "What a funny joke!"**

_**Mais oui!**_** – "Of course!"**

_**Bonjour, Vincent Boudreaux. Je pense que vous savez qui c'est. Merci pour sauver Noelle. Elle a dit que son mobile a cassé hier soir quand vous l'aidiez. Voici ton nouveau mobile avec ni des micros ni un GPS. Gardez-le et ne dites pas Noelle de ce. Et savez si vous faites mal à mes fils, moi et ma femme allons tuer vos à la façon pire nous pouvons rêver de. **__**Au revoir.**_** – "Hello, Vincent Boudreaux. I think you know who this is. Thank you for saving Noelle. She said that your cellphone broke yesterday night when you were helping her. Here's your new phone without bugs or a GPS tracker. Keep it and don't say anything about this to Noelle. And know that if you hurt my children, my wife and I will kill you in the worst way we can dream of. Good bye."**


	40. Chapter 40

**If you're curious about the dresses, I've included the links - just replace the () with one / , get rid of the spaces, and it should get you there. If not, just message me and I'll send you the link.**

**Anyways, here's your chapter... oh, and at 300 reviews, I post the next chapter early!**

**Noelle's dress: http://www. (prom girl) .com (shop) (dresses) viewitem-PD490837**

**Sofya's dress: Alyce 6414**

**Oh, and I don't own any of the XMEN. Damn it.**

Chapter 39

Sofya climbed into the passenger seat of Luke's pickup and sighed deeply. Another day at Bayville High… what did Luke call this?

"Damn, hellish waste o' tahme."

She smiled. "You think so as well?"

Her boyfriend slammed his door closed, and leaned back a moment before pulling on his seatbelt. "_Merci Dieu_ Ah graduate dis year."

Biting her lip, Sofy fiddled with her coat. "Where are you going?"

"Well," he said, starting the truck. "Rahght now, Ah'm gon' drahve us back t' da Institute. Afteh dat, we see."

"No. I mean… where will you go after you graduate? For college?"

He was silent for a long moment, pulling out of the parking space and weaving out of the parking lot.

Finally: "Ain' stayin' heah."

Her fingers curled unhappily in her lap. "Are you going back to Louisiana?"

"Well, _chère_, somet'in' y' gotta understan'. Neit'er o' mah parents wen' ta college. 'Less y' count onlahne courses – an' dey don'. Maman's always wan'ed us ta go ta college an' since Ah ain' got anyt'in' bettah ta do, Ah mahght as well do it. So Ah've applied ta a coupla colleges."

"Where?"

"No where 'round here. Closest's in D.C. Two back home an' a few out west."

"Where?"

"California."

"Oh."

"_Qu'est-ce que de toi, belle Sofy_? What're y' gon' do afteh y' graduate?"

Hmmm… good question.

"I do not know. I was thinking about… perhaps staying here in the country and maybe applying for citizenship and going to a university."

He glanced at her with interest. "_C'est vrai?_"

"Excuse me?"

"Действительно?" he said in a passable Russian accent.

She beamed. "Yes."

"What y' gon' study?"

The word came to her lips immediately. "Law. I wish to study to become an attorney."

This time he looked straight at her and gave that smile that made her insides go all sweet and… what was the word?... sexy? "_Ma belle_ Sofy, a lawyer, Ah lahke da soun' o' dat…"

Sofy fought back a giggle. "Please keep your eyes on the road, Lucien. I will survive a car crash, but you will not and I would like to keep you around for the future."

Luke obligingly looked back at the road. "Speakin' o' da future, _ma chérie_, dere's somet'in' Ah wan' ask y'."

"What is it?"

"Will y' come t' da prom wit' _moi_?"

Her hands froze in her lap. Her eyes froze. And she was damn sure her heart had frozen. Somehow, she was able to unfreeze herself enough to croak out a "What?"

"Will ya, Sofya Illyana Rasputin, come t' da prom wit' _moi_, Lucien Emil LeBeau?"

"Your middle name is Emil?"

"_Ouais_, an' don' be changin' da subject."

Prom. He was asking her to the prom. The thing that Julia had begun speaking of with increasing frequency when speaking about Alexei – something about hinting at him to ask her… But _he_ was asking _her_…

"Sofy?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"I will go to the prom with you."

He beamed at her and her heart stuttered in her breast. "_Formidable, mais chère_, Ah wouldn' go broadcastin' dat jus' yet."

"And why not?" They had reached the gates to the Institute.

"Y' realleh wan' t' tell Julie so she kin start draggin' y' roun' lookin' foh' a dress?"

Sofy's face twisted in complete horror; after that one time she had allowed Julia to take her to the mall for a dress for her first date with Luke, she had sworn that she would never again go shopping with the girl again. "Oh sweet God in heaven!"

* * *

Noelle raised an eyebrow at the pink disaster of faux silk Julia was waving around. "What is dat s'pposed t' be?"

"A prom dress! It's the latest thing!"

"O' what? Barbie dresses?"

Julia pouted. "Don't you think Sofya would look perfect in this?"

The thought of her brother walking in with a girl dressed like a ball of cotton candy grated in her mind. "No."

Sofy peeked around a dress rack and looked the dress over with an expression of muted horror. "I… I do not think I would look good in that…"

"Sure you would!" the smaller girl chirped, throwing a dirty look at Noelle.

"Oh my God," Monica gasped, her arms full of gold taffeta skirt. "What is _that?_"

"If Julie has her way, i's gon' be Sofy's dress," Noelle informed her dully.

"Oh, Sofya, you can_not_ wear that! The skirt would make your legs look stubby and your waist fat and that bodice is – urgh!"

"Hey!" Alana snapped, bursting from a changing room. "At least wait until you see me in the dress before you start criticizing!"

They were at the mall, shopping for prom dresses – well, actually Julia, Monica, Alana, and Sofya were shopping, Noelle had tagged along to enjoy the freedom of not having her arm in a sling and being able to take a deep breath without moaning in pain, as well as offer her sound and practical fashion advice.

"Sug, numbeh one, Sofy don' look good in pink, her color's red. Numbeh two, dere's no way she'd be able t' even walk in all dat crap an' numbeh t'ree da dress is hideous."

Julia swelled in fury and was about to cause what promised to be a very entertaining scene when Alana jumped in and asked her opinion of her dress.

"_Vite_!" Noelle hissed at Sofy. "While she's distracted!"

Grabbing the taller girl's wrist, Noelle dragged her away and the two made their way out of the department store.

"Phew! Well now, _chère_, y' learned yo' lesson 'bout tellin' Julie 'bout prom dresses?" the Thief panted, sitting heavily on a bench.

"Yes. A thousand times yes!"

"_Alors, tu voudrais faire du shopping avec moi?_"

Sofy took a stab at it. "Ummmm… would I like to… do some shopping?"

Noelle laughed and looped her arm through the Russian's. "Mais oui! Le's go fahnd y' a dress."

And so it went. Sofy found herself being led through JC Penny's, Dillard's, Lord and Taylor's, and several smaller but high end dress shops. She wasn't quite sure what Noelle was looking for, though it was obvious the Southerner knew. She would occasionally stop dead in the middle of the mall and turn to stare her up and down, then stride away muttering wildly in French.

Every dress went through the same process: each was glanced at, either snorted over and passed or given an extra moment of consideration. Nothing pink, yellow, orange, green, or animal print was allowed past the first round. Anything short skirted was thrown aside contemptuously. Gold was tossed aside contemptuously and soon Sofy was staggering under the weight of a mountain of blue, silver, black, and red dresses.

Then came the careful eyeballing of every dress as it was held up to the tall, blushing Sofy. One dress discarded became two, then six, then seventeen, then twenty five, then thirty three, then –

"_Voila!_" Noelle cried out triumphantly in Macy's, holding out the slickest, most incredible dress Sofy had ever seen. "Dis da one! Luke'll drop dead when he sees y' in dis!"

Well, the girl thought fairly as she pulled the material over her head and wiggled to get it properly on, it was very elegant, sophisticated, and her favorite color red – but how in the world could her friend possibly think that freakishly tall, too skinny (though she had finally managed to regain her curves over the last few months) Sofy with black hair and too big eyes…

She was still mentally counting off all the reasons she was physically inferior when she managed to tug the dress straight and walk out of the dressing room. At least it didn't trip her up; the skirt was slinky all down her body and made walking surprisingly easy.

The look on Noelle's face – sheer triumph and slight admiration – made her stop and blush. "What?"

"_Un moment_," her friend said, whipping out her cell phone and taking a picture. "Gotta show y' t' Mama."

Sofy froze. "What?"

But Noelle was already talking on her phone. "Did'y' get da picture, Maman?... Yeah, dat's Sofy... _je sais_, wha' y' t'ink 'bout her?... Mmmmm, _d'accord_, Ah tell her. _Je t'aime, a bientôt_."

"What? What did your mother say?" Sofy demanded.

Noelle faced her with a most smug expression as she snapped the phone closed and slipped it into her jacket pocket. "She says dat yo' way too pretty t' be datin' her son. She also says y' should definitely buy dat dress."

She flushed to the roots of her black curls. "Why would she say that?"

Before she could say much else, Sofy found herself being steered forcefully to stand in front of the mirror. And then she was staring at the image reflected back at her.

"Dat's why."

There was no question of not buying it now, though her father would undoubtedly be horrified by her credit card bill.

It was only on their way to the cash register that Sofy spotted something that made her stop in her tracks. "Noelle?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you think of that?"

A pause.

"Dat Ah need a new little black dress… Hold mah jacket."

* * *

Vincent cursed as yet another wing came out looking shriveled and dead.

"Still no good?" Alexei asked rhetorically from where he and the eldest LeBeau were quizzing each other on physics terms.

"No," he snapped darkly, crossing the failure out with fierce slashes of his pencil.

"Y' study up on _les oiseaux_?" LeBeau asked, squinting at the book Alexei was holding as though hoping to see through the cover and numerous papers and read the answer.

"_Non_, I been jugglin' encyclopedias fo' de exercise."

"Mate, how much longer have you got 'til the Art Competition deadline?" James wanted to know from where he was madly typing up the rough draft for English that should have been done a week ago.

"De deadline's on March 14 – we turnin' in our pieces dat Friday."

His roommate left off on his essay and began counting on his fingers. "Vin-mate, that means you've got less than four weeks left! Today's the 23rd of February!"

"T'anks foh da update, Jimmy," he growled, staring at a photocopied picture of a swan's wing.

"Wha'choo drawin' anyways?" LeBeau asked, abruptly appearing beside him and snatching the sketchpad from his hands. Vincent dully noticed that he wasn't as fast as his sister.

Thankfully, the door opened and the spawn of hell – better known as Denzel – walked in before the Thief could flip through the pages and find his sister depicted from just about every conceivable angle. And just like that curious brown eyes went deadly and a soundwave blasted away like a cannonball.

Denzel yelped as he was blasted out of the library but no one made a sound to even try and stop his attacker, choosing instead to look on coldly as the cheating bastard crashed into the opposite wall and fell to the ground.

"Y' ain' usin' as much power t' blast him as y' usually do," Vincent commented blandly.

"An' y' ain' trahin' t' kill us no more," LeBeau returned just as tonelessly. "Bu' Noelle as'ed _moi _not t' go too hard on him 'cause she was goin' ta hit wit' somet'in' realleh strong jus' 'foh his parents come an' pick 'im up tonahght."

"Wha's she goin' t' do?"

"_Sais pas_, but knowin' Noelle i's bound t' be somet'in' nasty."

Vincent winced.

"Damn it!" Denzel snarled from where he was laying. "What the hell is you bastards' problem? Like you wouldn't have done the same frickin' think!"

"_Dis!_ Luke!" the LeBeau girl's voice came ringing out and suddenly they all heard someone running along the hallway towards the library. "_Ou es-toi?_"

"In da library, _chère_!" her brother called.

Denzel yelped as a pair of sexy heels ran over him, obviously going out of their way to step on his back.

It was the LeBeau girl in a slick, long black coat. The sling on her arm was gone and she moved with an ease none of them had seen in almost a week. "Ah want y'all's opinion o' mah new dress!"

"Where's yo' sling?" demanded her brother.

She laughed lightly. "Beast took it off afteh school – 'foh Ah wen' shoppin' _merci a Dieu_, an' he said Ah shouldn' get back inta Danger Room session's 'til nex' week. He did say Ah could flah again."

"That must make you happy," James said brightly.

"_Mais oui!_ T'ank God fo' quick healin'!" She tossed her loose auburn locks. "So y'all ready? Be honest – 'membeh dat Ah'll know if y' lyin'!"

"_D'accord, petite_, show us."

At LeBeau's insistence, the young woman shrugged out of the coat and tossed it away.

Vincent gaped.

So did the rest of the guys.

Denzel looked as though he had just been run through the heart.

Noelle LeBeau was wearing a short black dress that went down to her knees with a frothy bit of lighter fabric above the underskirt. It had a simple spaghetti strapped top that cupped her breasts elegantly and a belt of silver and gold chain stitches hugged her slender waist. Around her neck he spotted the cross, the chain doubled up so that the crucifix charm would hang higher. Her black-silver heels boosted her about three inches and made her bronze legs look even longer. The natural tousle in her hair gave her an edge that sent her from beautiful to downright sexy as hell.

"Wha' d'y' t'ink?"

"_Très belle…_"

Vincent blinked in confusion as everyone stared at him.

The LeBeau girl cocked her head just _so_ and smiled at him. "_Merci_, Vincent."

Wait… _he_ had said that?

But she had already moved on, turning around so gracefully that her skirt flew up and revealed a nice bit of lean thighs, and was now approaching Denzel. Vincent couldn't tear his eyes away; if he wasn't staring at her legs, he was staring at her ass, or her hips, or the way her hair was swinging along her back – and he just knew that if she turned around he wouldn't be able to look away from her breasts or, even worse, her face. She crouched before her ex-boyfriend, her calf muscles pulling tight and hard and not even wobbling on the high heels.

"Wha' d'y' t'ink, Denzel?"

When he didn't answer, the young woman put a long, delicate finger under his chin and closed his mouth with an audible snap. "See, Denzel, dis wha' y' gave up fo' a quick roll in da mud. Ah am a lady. Ah know what Ah deserve an' Ah know fo' sho' dat Ah deserve a hell o' lot mo' dan you. So look an' suffeh. You nevah have a chance lahke dis again."

"Wha's it fo', Noelle?" LeBeau asked.

She looked around at him and stood in one smooth move. "Wan'ed t' get somet'in' realleh nahce fo' Vincent's award ceremoneh."

"How y' know I gon' win?"

An unconcerned flapping hand, "Y' will. Non, actually, Ah bought dis fo' da cruise."

"Ah! But Noelle-luv," James said. "Isn't that a bit dark for a cruise?"

The Professor had recently announced that as a school treat, he would be offering an opportunity for fifteen students to go on a Caribbean cruise with two chaperones for Spring Break. On the list were James, Alexei, Vassily, Edward Worthington, LeBeau, Charles Summers, and, until recently, Denzel Hawkins. Representing the girls were Alana Wagner, Julia, Sarah, Sofy, Monica, Kelsey Crisp, Bridget… and her… As chaperones Iceman/Bobby Drake and his wife Jubilee were going.

Vincent hadn't signed up – he was thinking of a nice, quiet, empty mansion that he could use to try and work out what he was going to tell his mother when she saw the Thieves were still alive this coming summer.

"Jimmy-luv," she countered, mimicking his accent. "C'n y' honestly see _moi_ in somet'in' pink?"

James grinned. "Nope, but how 'bout red or green?"

"Nah, goin' foh da dark an' mysterious look."

"Then, my friend," Alexei said. "You have succeeded. There are few men who would not be taken with you."

"Easy dere, _mon ami_," she admonished lightly. "Y' got someone pinin' fo' y' alreadeh."

"'Ssassin."

Vincent finally managed to tear his eyes away from the beautiful young woman as he turned to face her brother. Her brother who was staring at his sketchpad. Shit.

"Wha' da hell is dis?"

"Dat _mon frère_," the LeBeau girl said coolly, approaching them. "Happens t' be art."

"Dis is you, Noelle!"

"Ain' dat jus' what Ah said?"

"Ah said dis was art."

"An' what am Ah?"

"_Chère_, if yo' head was any bigger, y' wouldn' be able t' flah."

She laughed. "But it ain' too big an' dat's all dat matters. Now be nahce t' Vincent, Luke, he asked _moi_ if he could do dat an' besahdes y' still owe him fo' savin' mah ass."

With that, the two Cajuns were reduced to watching the female bane of their existence stride away in her sexy heels.

"LeBeau, don' wan' y' t' be takin' dis da wrong way, _mais ta sœur_ is crazy."

"Ah already knew dat, but t'anks fo' da confirmation."

* * *

Noelle slipped out of the black dress and slithered into her uniform. The synthetic fibers felt good on her skin and the boots were like a second skin. Opting for caution, she strapped her twin staffs onto her thighs and tucked her communicator into her shirt.

Fully suited up, she slipped past Scott and Charles Summers with all the grace and stealth she had been taught. She didn't bother with such tactics when she passed Logan; he took one look at her uniform and grunted a rough, "Don't do anything stupid I forgot I did."

"Not a real good warnin', _mon ami_!"

The air was still desperately cold – the winter had been tougher than usual – but things were definitely starting to heat up. But low temperatures were becoming less and less effective on her skin as she got older. When she had first started flying, even in the warmth of New Orleans, she had gotten hideously cold and now she barely felt it. Oh, she knew it was cold and could feel changes in temperature as keenly as Storm, but she never actually felt it affecting her.

Her mother said it was probably her body reshaping itself to better accommodate for her powers: it was why her heart and lungs were so much larger than was normal and why her body could withstand high speeds, rapid accelerations, and sudden stops.

Well, whatever it was, it sure made flying more enjoyable – if that was even possible – for her.

Standing on the back patio, she could just hear the babble of her children in the playroom with Monica, Sarah and Sofya. She leaned her head back and opened herself.

Noelle sighed as she felt the emotions of the Institute wash over her like ocean waves and lifted herself into the air.

A wild laugh escaped as she spread her arms and shot into the sky.

"_Bonjour, Dame Ciel, je me suis revenue!_"

And she was off.

Kestrel cleared the cloud line with barely a thought, and hmmed softly as the weak winter sunlight fell onto her. She twisted her lean body and directed herself to the east – to the sea. Away she went, her bangs whipping her face as she dove straight down.

The Institute was abruptly in her face, and so were the shocked faces of James, Alexei, her brother, and Vincent. With the lightest redirection, she swept over their heads, close enough to reach down and slap them upside the head and more than close enough to send them all reeling with her displaced air. It took a moment for her to regain control of her slightly wobbling flight path and she shot ahead over the trees and then took a neat nose dive over the edge of the cliff.

About halfway down, she adjusted her incline and dove into the water.

The temperature of the water was like a punch to the chest but it was also refreshing and she knew that if she had her strength she would find it pleasant. As it was, it wasn't the most comfortable and she quickly burst from the water, shaking her sopping bangs from her face.

Laughing like a wild thing, she shot into the sky as sharply as any rocket and cleared the cliff in less than a second. No jungle gym or playground would ever compare to her sky.

By the time Kestrel returned, the sky was orange with the sunset.

Vincent, in her brother's old jacket was sitting on the roof sketching wildly.

"_Dis!_" she yelled, waving. "_Vincent, qu'est-ce que tu fais?_"

"_Attende-toi!_" he shouted, holding out a hand.

Noelle raised an eyebrow, but obeyed.

"Take y' hair down!"

The eyebrow went higher. "_Quoi?_"

"Jus' fo' a sec."

She crossed her arms and tossed her head fiercely. "When mah kids wan' somet'in' dey say please."

The Prince of Assassins seemed like a sullen child before he bit his lip and looked up at her with a strange expression. It took her a moment to recognize a puppy dog look – it looked very strange on him. "_S'il vous plait, Mam'selle Noelle?_"

Noelle stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. "_D'accord! D'accord!_ Jus' put da puppy eyes away!"

* * *

Deadpool was bored. Really, really bored.

What would help ease his boredom?

Swords?

Played with 'em.

The rest of the Marauders?

Nah, no fun – after he had sliced off Vertigo's hair and most of her scalp they hadn't wanted to play anymore.

Hack into the doc's computer?

Hmmmm… why not? There was lots of porn on the Internet and maybe some footage on Youtube to watch Bea Arthur move her gorgeous hands… oooooh, he was getting chills just thinking about it!

And the doc was out doing… whatever it was he did when he left the lab – he wouldn't mind. And if he did, who cared? The bastard still hadn't given him pull out swords or laser vision like in the movie!

It took less than five minutes for the mercenary to hack neatly through the laptop's security features and get onto his favorite porn site. He was just sighing over some photographer's failed attempt to get a shot of Sue Richard in a bikini when something caught his eye – or rather, he was snooping through the computer sulking over the picture of the empty thong when he saw it.

Curiosity killed the cat.

But so did Deadpool when the cat was annoying.

He opened the file.

OOOOO… cool, people's names…

Okay. Now he was bored.

If this file had caught his eye before, then this particular bit of info had stuck a jagged hook into him.

It was him. There. Right there. Wade Winston Wilson, aka Deadpool.

In the 'B' section. Hm.

He was listed as a father. Hm – was he a father? He had certainly screwed enough girls.

He was listed as listed as the father of a Vincent Boudreaux, codenamed Sniper by the X-Men. Hm.

That was the tall blonde kid who had fought him at the X-Institute.

Under the heading of mother was Belladonna Boudreaux.

Blah, blah, blah.

Deadpool slammed the computer closed and left the room. He had some things to check out – Bea Arthur was going to have to wait.

It was time to pay a visit to New Orleans and the blonde woman who had given him quite a few weeks of enjoyment.

After all, didn't she know that growing up without a father could seriously screw up a kid? (So could growing up _with _a father but anyway…)

**Uh-oh, now Deadpool knows... What could be worse? Oh, yeah... Deadpool not knowing... Any ideas for the next chapter?**

_**Qu'est-ce que de toi, belle Sofy**_** – "What about you, beautiful Sofy"**

_**C'est vrai?**_** – "Really?"**

**Действительно – "Really?"**

_**Formidable**_**– "Awesome"**

_**Vite **_**– "Quickly!"**

_**Alors, tu voudrais faire du shopping avec moi? **_**– "Would you like to go shopping with me?"**

_**je sais**_** – "I know"**

_**Je t'aime, a bientôt**_** – "I love you, bye."**

_**des oiseaux**_** – "the birds"**

_**Sais pas**_** – "(I) Don't know"**

_**Dis!**_** – "Hey"**

_**Ou es-toi?**_** – "Where are you?"**

_**merci a Dieu**_** – "Thank God"**

_**Mais oui!**_** – "Of course!"**

_**mais ta sœur**_** – "but your sister"**

_**Bonjour, Dame Ciel, je suis revenue!**_** – "Hello, Lady Sky, I'm back!"**

_**Vincent, qu'est-ce que tu fais?**_** – "Vincent, what are you doing?"**

_**Attende-toi!**_** – "Wait/Hold on!"**


	41. Chapter 41

**300 REVIEWS! I could cry! Love you guys!**

**As promised...**

**PS - Don't own XE. Damn it.**

Chapter 40

The sound of his cell phone cut through the swinging jazz trumpet of Louis Armstrong humming from his IPod.

Grumbling, Vincent set down the bowl he had been using to mix grey and green paint, pulled his headphones out and reached for his phone. The cell the LeBeaus had procured for him was the best he had ever had; he supposed that when you did the sort of work they did you didn't want anything bulky, inconvenient or faulty anywhere near you.

"'Lo?"

"Vincent!"

He sat up so quickly he nearly overturned his paint bowls. "_Maman_?"

Belladonna Boudreaux had never sounded so… scared? Strained? "We had a visitor, a man callin' himself Deadpool…"

Vincent stood up. His stool fell over and red and yellow splattered over his bare feet. "_Quoi?_" That freak had been at his house? Why? What could he have possibly wanted?

"He jus' busted inta da house an' started raisin' hell… Bertrand an' Armand are dead an' Zacharie, Gaston, Rainier, Corinne, Yvonne, an' Lilianne may not make it t'rough da night."

One arm was bracing his body on the easel as he clutched the phone to his ear. "I get on a plane an' –"

"NO!"

"_Quoi? Maman_, dat _batard_ could come back! Y'all need me!"

"Wha' we need y' t' do is finish da job we gave y'!" his mother snarled. "Den y' c'n come back!"

"Wha'd he wan'?"

"What?"

"Dat Deadpool – I met him befoh an' –"

"Wait," she cut him off, sounding sharper than he had ever heard her. "Y' met dis man befoh?"

"_Oui_, he attacked da Institute but got away befoh we could catch him an' kill 'im. 'Course, Logan been sayin' dat tryin' t' kill 'im's useless – he cain' be killed. His healin' abilities're so powerful dat he's been known ta recover even when his head's been cut off – I seen it."

"What'd he say t' y'?"

Huh? "Nut'in' really… Somet'in' 'bout killin' an' somet'in' 'bout a dead woman an' jus' a bunch o' crap… nut'in' importan' – jus' seemed t' talk t' talk, _tu sais_?"

"He didn' say anyt'in' more den dat?"

Suspicions crept up. "Was he s'pposed t' tell _moi_ somet'in'?"

"Jus' wonderin'. Da freak kept screamin' all kinds o' crap an' lies… Bes' t' nevah lissen t' anyt'in' someone like him say."

Something was definitely up… his mother was well and truly freaked.

"Y' eveh see dat _batard_, kill him, _comprends_?"

"_Oui._" Not like she had to tell him that – anyone who talked so easily of killing was not someone who should be allowed to run free. Even he, raised and trained as an Assassin, had never heard anyone speak as freely and casually of death as that freak had.

But there was something she wasn't telling him and he knew enough to know that she wasn't going to tell him.

"_Bon. Au revoir._"

And abruptly he was listening to the dial tone. "Dammit!"

He stared at the colorful footprints he was leaving in his wake. "Shit!"

* * *

He couldn't concentrate. Wolverine threw him on the ground hard enough to drop him like a sack of flour and he couldn't even bring himself to focus enough to keep his head from cracking on the floor.

It didn't matter; he would heal up, but Bertrand and Armand wouldn't. And Yvonne had died this morning of internal injuries… He wanted to be back home where they were probably getting ready to find the bastard that had done all of this and do what they did best.

When Elliot had called him late last night to tell him about Yvonne, he had given him a blow by blow account of how the madman had burst into the house and started demanding to see 'the blonde slut with the four inch stilettos who drinks Jack Daniel's like a pro'.

What had Deadpool wanted with his family? Was it to send a message to him?

Crack went his skull against the metal wall.

He thought blearily of the beautiful sword folded carefully away under his bed. It had a black hilt with a stripe of red running along the center, a small, simple round bronze colored guard and a katana style blade. It was brutally sharp and gave him tiny cuts even when he just brushed his thumb absently against the edge.

Had that been why Deadpool showed up at his house?

Vincent remembered learning fear tactics when he was eight, how to drive an enemy into submission through their family… This was sure to be only the beginning.

And now three of his cousins were dead. And he was forbidden to come back for the funerals under pain of banishment.

It occurred to him as he stood up that Wolverine was no longer attempting to beat his ass into paste – actually, the short guy was talking to him.

Hmm, better listen.

"…don't know what the hell your problem is, Knife, but you're fighting like a green GI! This ain't like you at all!"

"Huh?"

The veins in Logan's neck were pulsing dangerously but Vincent was too out of it to care.

"Mouse! Get our here and see if you can knock some sense into the assassin over here!"

The LeBeau girl was in front of him, hands on her hips and her uniform slick. "Wha's wrong witchoo? Y' so spacey."

He scowled at her. "_Ferme-la_. Le's fight."

"Oh, is dat wha'cha call dis?" she asked, dodging around a punch and delivering a powerful blow of her own. "We got a slahghtly different definition in _ma famille_."

He didn't want to think about families – at least, not while the memories of Bertrand who had taught him to throw a football, Armand who had let him drive the boat by himself, and sweet Yvonne who fired a rifle better than his mother and sang like a mockingbird were running through his head.

According to Elliot, Deadpool had walked right into the dining room as the whole family was eating dinner. His mother had given the order to have him killed and that's where the trouble had started.

Whump

The air was driven sharply out of him as the girl gave him an uppercut that practically met his spine.

"Are all o' y' 'Ssassins such _touchant_ fighters? Ah was under de impression dat 'Ssassins couldn' be killed."

But Yvonne and Armand and Bertrand were dead. They had been killed and no one seemed to care – not even his mother, Yvonne's godmother. Certainly not this girl with her perfect life and her perfect family. Not this girl who always landed on her feet and always knew what to do –

He grabbed her fist and twisted it behind her. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

"Dere we go!" she laughed even as she threw herself backwards onto him, wrecking his balance.

They fell with a crash. Sniper tried to get her around the neck but she had tucked her chin down to her chest and slammed both elbows back into his chest. He released her with a grunt but snatched at her again as she leapt to her feet and retreated several feet away.

Since this was a basic hand to hand training session, they were not allowed any powers and his knives were waiting for him in the locker room. On the bright side, Kestrel was minus her staffs, which he knew was saving him a lot of bruises.

"Damn T'ief! You don' what y' talkin' 'bout!"

She stuck out a hip and faced him fiercely. "_Quoi?_ Am Ah wrong? Y'all dat good?"

Armand had been that good; he had taught him how to break someone's jaw. He shouldn't have died.

He charged her and fell into a slide to get past her defense. He was right in her knock out zone – he could kill her right now –

But no, he couldn't… she was that little girl, the one he had thought dead for so long. Dead like Yvonne…

Something smashed into his chin and sent him staggering backwards.

Kestrel looked at him with a quiet look on her face. "Yo' heart ain' in dis today, Vince."

A strange burst of happiness rose in his chest but the thought of claustrophobic Yvonne being buried in the family plot killed it even before it could mess with his concentration. "Dat won' work, LeBeau."

"Ah c'n see dat. Y' really miserable today."

"Ain' dis a no powers session?"

"Well, dis mah tahme o' da day t' lie. An' y' could use whateveh Ah dish out."

"Whatever you dish out won' affect me."

"Ain'cha learned yo' lesson 'bout challengin' meh?"

"Cain' kiss me here."

"Wasn' plannin' on it."

"MOUSE! KNIFE! THIS AIN'T THE TIME TO CHATTER. MOVE YOUR ASSES UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE SCRUBBING OUT THE DANGER ROOM FOR A MONTH!"

Vincent moved to attack.

And then something hit him. It wasn't physical and it wasn't bad. It was something like the times she had hit him with her empathy before.

And yet completely different.

He felt… something…

It was warm in his chest. Sweet. Safe. Wonderful.

He had no name for this – all he knew was that he had never felt this way before.

* * *

Noelle gasped as Vincent tipped over backwards. "Aah! Vincent! _Ca va?_"

The doors opened and she heard the others come sprinting inside, but she was already kneeling over her opponent. He had the goofiest smile on his face and didn't seem to be focusing on anything in particular.

What the hell? She had hit people with this before! Had shoved it at her brother and most of the other students and quite a few of her more serious and dangerous opponents. None of them had ever taken it like this. But Vincent had latched onto the pleasant emotions she had unleashed on him like a drowning man. Damn it! It had been a powerful feeling even if it wasn't very big, but the only explanation… the only way he could have had this sort of reaction was if he… well, if he had had a really screwed up past… and if his mother had been a royal bitch…

"Vincent? Get up!"

"Do I haveta?" he slurred contentedly, sounding like a little kid being dragged out of bed.

"Yes! Now come on!" She grabbed his arm and was exceptionally relieved when he obediently dragged himself into a sitting position and smiled crookedly at nothing. He was pretty damn heavy.

"Vincent, mate!" James yelped. "Are you alright?"

"I said no powers, Mouse! What the hell did you hit him with?" roared Logan.

"Nut'in' dat shoulda hit him dis hard. Vincent! Get up!"

"_D'accord, d'accord…_" he mumbled, never losing his smile. He reached out dreamily and took her hand and James'. It took both of them to heave the lithe 6'3'' Assassin to his feet and even then he didn't want to stand on his own; he merely draped his arms over their shoulders and leaned on them, and rather unfortunately he was just a little too tall and heavy for that.

But he wouldn't let go and they couldn't get him off. When Lucien and Alexei tried to peel him off them, he pouted and tightened his grip enough to make breathing difficult so the two backed off and let her and James haul him out of the Danger Room.

"Noelle?"

She glanced up at her dazed charge in surprise. "Yeah?"

His smile widened and he turned his head to her. "Y' smell nice. _J'aime ton parfum._"

Noelle smiled. "_Merci_, but Ah ain' wearin' perfume."

"Den i's jus' you dat smells good."

A bit of warmth appeared in her chest even as she laughed. "Y' a better flirt when y' high on empathy."

The arm around her neck wandered up and his fingers started playing listlessly with a few curls that had escaped from her bun. "Is dat a good t'ing?"

She patted his back gently. "'Course it is, sug."

* * *

Logan wasn't happy.

Mouse and Matches had managed to haul Knife's carcass to Beast's examining room, where the good doctor had pronounced him to be in perfect health and prescribed a quiet place to sit and regain his senses.

But he hadn't missed the smell coming off of Knife as he smiled dazedly at Mouse. There was something he had noticed lately – well, since the first moment he had met the Cajun. Logan was privately under the permanent opinion that all Cajuns were insane and frankly more trouble than they were worth.

Alright, maybe not all of them – but the grand majority of them definitely were - definitely all of the ones he knew.

The scent had been getting stronger and stronger the longer the Assassin hung around. And besides that part scent, he had also whiffed something else that was very familiar. He had smelled it before… but where?

He couldn't remember.

Of course, with his insane good luck it was probably going to be someone like Sabretooth or Juggernaut or Deadpool. He shuddered internally.

By the time Mouse and Matches had dropped the useless bunch of flesh into a chair in the back hallway of windows, they were running late for school. But there was time to yell out Mouse's punishment as she dove into Cyclops' car and sped away with Matches.

Logan watched them go silently.

"Is something the matter?" Laura asked.

"It's nothing, kid."

"Don't call me kid."

"Sure kid."

Growl.

"Knife's scent is familiar."

"Trouble familiar?"

"Yup."

"Damn."

And that pretty much summed it up.

* * *

When Vincent finally snapped out of his haze, he realized right away that he seriously needed to use the bathroom. Not the most elegant way to emerge from the bliss he had been enjoying the whole day, but with his bladder close to exploding there was nothing else he could do.

He was still in his training uniform so he took the elevator down to the lower level to get his clothes. The clock in the elevator, not to mention his growling stomach, told him that he had been out of it for quite a while – almost nine hours in fact.

One shower, change of clothes, and lunch later, the other students were coming back from school. Immediately, he went looking for the one who had put him in that fog. Going down the sterile halls, he ran into the professor, who was on his way out of Cerebro.

"Ah, Vincent! Feeling better?"

"Yeah… I'm okay, c'n y' tell _moi_ wha' happened?"

The elderly man leaned back in his wheelchair and folded his hands neatly. "As far as I could gather, Noelle hit you with an empathic blast she calculated would be enough to disorientate you, but you took it far more seriously than anyone expected. There was really nothing we could do with you – you were so entrapped in your own feelings that no one could reach and unfortunately Noelle did not have the time as she was rushing off to school. Nothing seems to be wrong with you physically, and I cannot tell you anything about your mental status. It would be best to ask Noelle about that."

"Dat's who I was lookin' fo'."

"Check the hanger. I believe Logan has her working on the Blackbird."

"Merci, Professeur. A bientot."

A few minutes found the young man walking into the hanger. The two helicopters – one huge and sturdy, the other sleek and the fastest available – sat gleaming with fresh polish. Just beyond them was the gorgeous X-Jet known as the Blackbird 2.7. A hatch was open on its belly and there seemed to something happening inside of the plane.

"Hello?" he yelled into the huge space.

There was a thump, a curse, then a loud, "Wha?"

A grin spread across his face. "Havin' trouble, LeBeau?"

"If y' ain' heah t' help den y' c'n leave," came her unmistakable voice.

He chuckled and trotted over to stand under the aircraft so he could see her.

Oh.

This hadn't been a good idea. He was looking up at long legs clad only in skin tight black biker shorts that barely covered her thighs and a white tank top that gaped open at the front – he could quite clearly glimpse a black sports bra.

"Was dere somet'in' y' wan'ed?" she called down.

"Ummm… yeah! Wha'd y' do t' me dis mornin'?"

Abruptly he was face to face with her as she leaned down and shoved a tool box and bottle of motor oil into his chest. "Hold dat."

And then she was back inside the engine.

For almost twenty minutes he stood there, holding the tool box for her and waiting as she pulled out wrenches and screwdrivers and once a hammer that he could hear banging away at something that sounded slightly important.

He didn't know what made him ask, but he heard the words, "Need any help up dere?"

"Yeah, but Ah don' t'ink y' be able t' fit. 'S too tahght in heah."

There was a rather ominous clank followed by a triumphant "AHA!"

Another pop and suddenly mostly bare legs appeared and a lean female body dropped down.

The girl was covered in splotches of motor oil that ranged from her hair all the way down to her ratty sneakers. Taking the tool box from him, she snatched a rag out from amid the tools and started dabbing at her face. "Now, what was it y' wan'ed t' talk about?"

"Dis mornin'."

"Actually Ah did wan' t' talk t' y' 'bout dat as well. Ah ain' eveh seen someone take it dat hard."

"Wha' was it?" he leaned forward a bit, trying not to let his eyes wander to stare at the black bra he could see.

"Well, when Ah was _très petite_ Ah was always fallin'. Ah could trip on air – da word grace was no' in mah vocabulary – an' most o' da tahme Ah ended up bleedin'."

"And?" What the hell was this doing to answer his question?

She swatted at him with the rag. "Ah'm gettin' t' dat part. 'Course, Ah used t' freak out wheneveh Ah scraped mah knees so I would go runnin' t' mah mama. She always fixed meh rahght up an' den she'd hug meh an' give meh a kiss on de forehead.

"Wha' hit y' wit' was da memory o' what Ah felt when mah mama did all dat. Ah guess y' could call it feelin' loved. I's one mah strongest emotions so Ah have t' be real careful 'bout how much Ah give someone. Ah nevah seen anybody react da way you did."

"Bein' loved? I been loved befoh an' it never felt like dat."

She gave him a cool look as she set the toolbox down and closed the hatch. "Bein' loved bah _une fille_ y' havin' a one nahght stand wit' don' count."

Vincent snarled. "Dat ain' what I was talkin' 'bout! Ma mama loves _moi _an' I never felt like dat!"

Never had he received a sharper look. "Eveh?"

He shrugged. "Not dat Ah kin remember."

The expression on her face softened into something like pity. "Ah. Dat's too bad, it feels great."

"Yeah, it did."

Gathering up her tools again, she started making her way to the door. "Ah guess dat's why y' reacted so strong t' it. I's wha' y' wan'ed t' feel."

The doors opened as the two approached them, but she stopped suddenly. And proceeded to give him a smile that made his insides twist. "Well, Ah'm glad y' lahked it an' y' ain' hurt. _A bientôt_… Oh!"

An utterly wicked smirk spread across her face. "Do Ah still smell nahce?"

"_Quoi?_"

She touched his arm coyly. Little volts of electricity shot through his body as surely as if he had touched an exposed wire. "Y' said Ah smelled good dis mornin'. 'Sat still true?"

There was an enormous heat building up under his collar and he was didn't know what to say. An image of her in that little black dress flashed across his mind and he flushed.

And she laughed. "_Mon Dieu, mon ami!_ Ah was jus' jokin'! Now sit down fo' y' fall ovah!"

"I didn' say dat," he said flatly. "Did I?"

"'Fraid so. But don' worry, y' were real cute all doped up."

He was left standing there, red-faced and embarrassed, with the scent of motor oil and magnolias in his nose.

She did smell good.

**Some plot building... some character building... but mostly fluff. **

**But review anyway!**

_**tu sais**_** – "you know"**

_**comprends – "**_**understand" **

_**Bon. Au revoir.**_** – "Good. Good-bye."**

_**Ferme-la**_** – "Shut it!"**

_**Touchant**_** – "Pathetic"**

_**Ca va?**_** – "Are you okay?"**

_**J'aime ton parfum.**_** – "I like your perfume."**


	42. Chapter 42

**And here's your new chapter ladies and gentlemen!**

**Enjoy!**

**Don't own... if I did, this would be on TV.**

Chapter 41

March came quickly, bringing with it a mercifully warmer wind. The snow began giving way to mud and those with motorcycles eagerly hauled their bikes out of the garage and gave them tune ups. Children attempted to run barefoot in the frosty grass, only to be hauled back inside by Noelle, Storm, Monica and Sarah. Seniors began standing guard near the mailbox, waiting for college acceptance letters and fearing rejection letters. The younger students were hard at work preparing for the rapidly approaching AP Exams and finals.

James Allerdyce and his girlfriend/best friend Monica sat in the rec room, discussing what was becoming the most secretly talked about subject among the teens of the Institute – the upcoming cruise.

"What do you think it will be like, luv? You've been on cruises before, haven't you?"

"It's really fun, there's nothing but the sun and the sea and the sand… it's paradise!"

"Sounds awesome."

"I would think you wouldn't be interested in a cruise, Jim, I mean, your mutant ability deals with fire so naturally I assumed that you wouldn't want to come."

"Are you joking? Of course, I want to come! Y'know me dad proposed to Mum when they were on a boat."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, they were taking a ferry across the bay in New York and Mum got so seasick she started heaving over the side and cursing at Dad. Somewhere between her threatening to hex him off the boat and telling him she was going to castrate him, Dad asked her to marry him."

"What did she do?"

James smiled cheerfully. "Blasted him off the boat and then told him yes once they had fished him out of the bay."

"Wow… how, um, romantic."

"You think so? Vinny thought it was weird."

"Well, maybe just a little…"

Bang

Six and a half foot Alexei Rasputin stormed into the rec room like an ominous thundercloud.

Monica and James traded nervous glances.

"Mate? Is something the matter?"

"Why –" (the remote crunched in his hand) "-would you think anything-" (he threw the remains of the remote through the window) "-is the matter?"

"Ummmmmm…"

The two were thankfully saved having to answer that as Luke and Sofy entered, not touching but the relationship between them obvious.

"And do you have to do that?!"

The lovebirds jumped as the shout shook the dust from the crown molding of the walls. Then jumped again as the huge Russian leapt to his feet and zeroed in on Luke.

"Who gave you permission to date my sister anyway?"

By this point Luke had managed to pick his jaw up off the floor and draw himself to his full six foot one inches and glare back at his best friend. "An' what makes y' t'ink Ah needed permission t' ask her out?"

"You took advantage of her when she was still weak and naïve and –"

"Excuse me?"

James had never seen Luke back off so quickly as when Sofya suddenly put herself between him and her brother. "Luke? Would you give us some privacy?"

"_Mais oui, chérie_. C'mon, y'all."

And Monica and James found themselves being forcibly dragged from the room.

"Hey now, mate!" James complained, pulling his arm from Luke's powerful grip. "What's the big, bloody deal?"

"Give it a sec, mon ami," the other boy said grimly.

On cue, there was an eruption of yelling in what sounded suspiciously like Russian.

"What's happening?" Monica asked in fascination.

"Well, Sofy's sayin' dat she c'n take care o' herself… Alex's sayin' she cain'… t'ink she jus' hit 'im… sounds lahke dey 'bout t' start t'rowin' shit. T'ink we should get away from da door."

The three made their quick and cautious way away from the raging argument.

"How'd you know they were going to start throwing things?" Monica wanted to know.

Luke smiled. "D'y' know why mos' guys from da South're gentlemen?"

"No."

"'Cause women in da South're scary as hell an' men who act lahke gentlemen have a lesser chance o' gettin' slapped."

James and Monica burst out laughing. "But Sofy is from Russia, not the South."

"Y' wouldn' know it from watchin' her. Mah Sofy mahgh as well've been born in Mississippi."

They laughed again, but when Sofy emerged from the rec room, bright red patches on her cheeks and her dark eyes glittering dangerously, both wondered if maybe Lucien didn't have a point.

* * *

Noelle stirred the hot chocolate rhythmically, ignoring the puddle of children bobbing around her hips, begging for her to hurry. It took several more minutes before she could start pouring out the steaming liquid into mugs, topping them with generous mounds of marshmallows and handing them out to the eager children around them. Once everyone had a cup and handful of chocolate chip cookies, she shooed them off to settle in front of the TV in the entertainment room to watch the Lion King (again), where Storm was waiting to supervise them.

This meant she had the rest of the night to herself – Whoo-hoo!

With that happy thought in mind, she wasted no time in pouring herself a cup of hot chocolate and settling herself at the table for some good hard writing. From the time she had first been able to spell out simple words, Noelle had kept a journal and guarded each one viciously until she had filled it, at which point she dropped the filled book near the fireplace in the library to be burned later. This was partly because she didn't have the room to store over twenty used diaries, journals, and books and partly because she wasn't wild about people reading her innermost thoughts.

And so she sat down and began scribbling away in French, occasionally eating a cookie or taking a sip from her mug.

Alexei came stomping in and slapped some ham and cheese between two pieces of bread. They ignored each other until she raised her eyes to him. "Y' didn' say anyt'in' t' her. Y' acted lahke y' onleh wan'ed t' be her friend. Y' got no rahght t' be made at her fo' flirtin'. So either ask her out o' get oveh it."

He shouted something in Russian and banged out of the kitchen.

She rolled her eyes and went back to her writing.

_Thank God it's almost Spring Break. If I had to go through another AP practice test, I think I would be forced to slit my wrists. Nothing against my teachers, but a person can only take so many of those before they snap._

_Meanwhile, Julie is trying to hint to Alexei to take her to prom. She's been flirting with every guy in the Institute trying to make him jealous. Both are complete idiots – if she wanted to go with him so badly, she'd ask him out. _

_God, what idiots._

She had just finished a page when her attention was seized by the sound of someone entering the kitchen. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled brightly. "_Bonjour_, Vincent."

The Assassin was covered in paint and looked slightly frenzied. His hair stood on end and his eyes were unfocused. Fingers twitching madly, he made desperate grasping motions at the cups.

Though she tried valiantly, Noelle couldn't hold back a chuckle.

At the sound, Vincent turned his wild eyes towards the outburst of laughter. "Oh. You. Wha' y' doin' here?"

"Ah could ask y' da same question. Wha' happened t' y'? Y' look lahke shit."

His brow wrinkled as he tried to scowl at her – and failed. "_Ferme-la!_"

"Dat all y' c'n say t' _moi_? Heah, sit down an' clean y'self off." Closing her journal, she stood up and grabbed a towel to give to him.

Catching it expertly, the young man stared at it blankly.

Noelle sighed deeply and went to him. "Sit down, Vincent."

"Cain'. Got work t' do. Da paintin's due in less dan a week."

Immediately her chin came up, her lips tightened. The "Rogue's Death Glare" she had inherited from her mother came out full force. "Sit. Down. Now."

The heir to the Assassin's Guild paled and nodded fiercely. "_Oui, mams'elle._"

He slumped at the table and started rubbing half-heartedly at his paint splattered clothes.

"Wha's got y' so jumpy?" Noelle asked, offering him some hot chocolate. "Is it da art competition?"

"Jus' a few days left."

She fell into her chair happily. "Why y' so worked up? Y' get it done in tahme. Ah didn' buy dat dress fo' nut'in' y' know."

He smirked at her as he swigged a bit of cocoa down. "Non, y' bought it fo' da cruise."

"Coincidentally, are y' goin' on da cruise? Dey's an extra spot since da t'ing's gone."

"Wha' t'ing?"

A careless, flap of her hand. "Da _batard _who Ah don' mention anymoh'."

"Ah. Him. Why would I go?"

"Y' goin' back ta _la ville_ fo' da Break?"

Vincent blanched. "Non!"

"T'inkin' 'bout y' mama? Well, y' should come wit' us if y' got nut'in' betteh t' do."

"I t'ink about it."

"Bon." She sat back down and they sat in companionable silence for a while.

It wasn't until she went back to writing in her journal did Noelle notice a bit of interest coming from the other Cajun. The feelings seemed to be focused on her writing – she dotted an i – and shifted herself slightly to shield the pages from view. There was a surge of disappointment, immediately followed with a healthy amount of guilt.

More guilt than a person should feel about just trying to get a peak at a girl's diary. This was more akin to someone actually…

"Did y' read dis?"

Vincent choked on his hot chocolate. "No! I ain' read dat!"

He wasn't lying completely, but he wasn't telling the whole truth either.

"Did y' read one o' da oldeh ones?" She put her cup down.

"Jus' one," he muttered.

"Which one?" She stood up.

He started sinking down into his chair. "…"

"Ah see." With dangerous slowness, Noelle placed her hands on either side of her mug and journal and leaned down. They were practically nose to nose.

"Make sure y' sign up fo' da cruise, _d'accord, mon ami_? Do dat an' Ah foh'get about dis."

He sat up a bit. "An' y' never bring it up again?"

"Didn't say dat. Y' takin' _moi_ out t' get a new bikini tomorrow. Now get back t' y' paintin'."

"Cain'."

"Cain' what? Ah know y' jus' got y' allowance from da professeh."

"Da paintin'. Cain' get da damn wings right."

"Don' give her wings."

"But she flies!"

Noelle made a token effort to not roll her eyes. "Maybe y' ain' noticed, but not everybodeh needs wings t' flah."

* * *

"Hmmm..." Deadpool muttered. "So he's got a girlfriend... Not bad..."

Silence.

"I wonder if I should bust in now...

"Nah... wouldn't want to mess up his chances with that one... at least he's got good taste..."

Silence.

"You're right, mini-me. I'll talk to him later... yeah, I can hear the author telling me to go back to DocSin too. Hey lady, can I -!"

The branch he was crouching on creaked and cracked ominously.

"Alright... alright... slave driver... I don't belong to you, you know!"

**[Somewhere at a computer a girl in glasses sobbed...]**

* * *

Vincent gave up on his goddess' wings. Birds seemed to be the only thing he could give wings to – everything else ended up looking like it had sprouted dying tree branches with dead leaves from its back.

So now he was reduced to lengthening her robe so that they billowed behind her like wings. It actually wasn't turning out too badly since he ironically had quite a gift for giving his female subjects clothes (maybe he was good at males too, but he had never tried to portray a guy so that was a moot point).

The picture slowly developing on the canvas was going beyond anything he could have hoped for. He wasn't sure what it was – he was _not_ going to admit it had been No-_her_ empathic crack upside the metaphorical head – but he had been very much focused the last few days. It was almost as if something was pushing him to greater heights – motivating him to do more.

Maybe it had something to do with his cousins.

His hand started to shake and he nearly ruined the blue shadows of his goddess' robes.

Belladonna had called him to order that he not return for their funerals and he still felt a hot surge of fury at her every time he thought of it. He was banished from his house until he got his mission done. He wished just for once his mother would give him the kind of feeling No-_she_ had given him – the kind that she said her mother had given her when she was young.

Touching up the folds around his subject's bust, he wondered if every parent gave their kid that feeling or if it was just a once in a blue moon kind of thing. Maybe it was something that went away as you got older – maybe he had just forgotten…

No. A feeling like that you didn't forget.

The young Assassin shifted his attention and brush to the thick auburn – almost curly – waves that were flying back from the goddess' shoulders.

Moving his shoulders slightly, he tried to get out of the sun. It had been heating up steadily ever since the beginning of March and now he could feel his T-shirt sticking to his back from sweat.

Okay…

The last touch… He picked up a new brush and leaned in, the barest trace of gold paint clinging to the tips of the bristles. It took several minutes to carefully trace out the whisker thin necklace and the slender band that wound around her left arm both of which that emphasized the bronze sheen of his subject's skin and made her practically shine in her white robes.

Bending so close to the canvas he was almost in danger of smearing the paint with his nose, he blew softly to hasten the drying of the newly painted necklace. It took several moments before he was satisfied but once that was done all that was left was his signature in the bottom left hand corner.

There. Throwing down the paintbrush, he sat back on his stool and grinned at his finished work.

Beautiful. And thank God he had finished it before Friday!

"Vincent!" Julia sang, poking her head into the greenhouse he had hidden in. "Dinner's ready – hey! You finished it!"

And before he could stop her, the Chicago valley girl filled her lungs and yelled loud enough to shake the leaves on the plants: "Come see Vincent's painting! He's finished!"

Instantly, as though they had been hiding just outside the doorway or even hanging silently from the ceiling, half the Institute was there staring at his newly finished work.

"It's beautiful!"

"It's Noelle!"

"Wow!"

"I thought you were going to paint Noelle naked."

"_Au-dessus de mon cadavre._"

"But it's so good! I had no idea you could paint like this!"

"It is just as I thought it would be."

"Very impressive."

"Hey, Noelle! Have you seen this?"

His insides did a weird, though not entirely unpleasant, wiggle as the crowd around him and his painting parted enough to let his inspiration through. For some reason, he felt foolishly pleased when her face broke out into a delighted smile at the sight of the piece.

But he had to ask, "Do y' like it?"

"Me as Nike o' Samot'race? Yeah, Ah lahke it."

"Who?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Nike…"

"Da shoe?"

He abruptly felt very stupid, and was grateful when she didn't laugh.

"No, Nike was da Greek goddess o' victory. She sat at Zeus' right hand an' made 'im victorious." She went back to admiring the painting.

The youngest Thief showed up with Graziella and clapped her gloved hands together in delight. "_Très jolie, Noelle! Très, très, jolie!_"

The conversation continued along this vein until the small thundercloud known as Logan came marching in. "Move it! We got dinner in five minutes – get your butts into the kitchen and help!"

Soon all that was left in the room was himself and three Thieves. And it only took a cool sideways glance for the eldest and the youngest to leave their sister alone with him.

For a long moment the both of them just stood and stared at the painting.

"Ah really look lahke dat?"

He smirked a bit at her. "Only when y' flyin'. When y' on da groun' y' –"

"_Belle et tu le sais._"

One of the reasons he didn't like her – she knocked him off balance and made him scramble for his footing. "But dis ain' you."

"Really?" The Thief made a great show of leaning in and examining the goddess she had modeled. "Ah see _mon père_'s cheekbones an' nose, mah mama's mouth an' forehead an' eyes… An' mah hair – Ah'm pretty sho' dis is _moi_. She looks jus' lahke how Ah feel when Ah'm flahin'."

"But she ain' flyin'."

"Not yet. But y' c'n see it in her face. She knows she about t' leap off dat ship an' flah away."

Vincent looked at his Nike. She stood on the prow of a ship, her white robes and auburn hair were thrown back to whip along in the air behind her. Her entire body was lean and poised to hurl herself into the air. The look on her face was wild and so utterly _joyful_ it made his heart lift a little.

"She is beautiful."

"_Merci_, Vincent."

"I ain' talkin' 'bout you!"

"Ah was under da impression dat Ah was her."

"Y' da model!"

"Need Ah say mo'?"

"Y' a pain in da ass."

"_Merci._ Fo' da paintin' an' da bikini."

He flushed. That had been quite a pleasant afternoon. She was damn good looking in that green and white bikini she had settled on.

At least she didn't spend hours agonizing over her decision and knew what she wanted instead of groaning and complaining and asking his opinion every five seconds. And when she finally stopped to ask his opinion, she had been a two piece that practically made his mouth water.

"_De rien_."

"Y' sign up fo' da cruise?"

"Yeah." He wasn't about to tell her that he had only signed up for the cruise after he had seen her in that bathing suit.

But she grinned as though she had heard anyway. "Good. Now _venez_ o' Monsieur Claws'll be comin' afteh us bot'."

Okay, Vincent thought reasonably to himself. So she was beautiful and charming and funny; that was no reason to lose his head.

**And now, by the power invested in me I command you all to review!!!**

**And if any of you can draw, send me a picture of the painting!**

_**Mais oui, chérie**_**. – "Of course, darling."**

_**Ferme-la!**_** – ****"Shut up!"**

_**la ville**_** – "the city" aka New Orleans**

_**Au-dessus de mon cadavre.**_** – "Over my dead body."**

_**Très jolie, Noelle! Très, très, jolie!**_** – "Very pretty, Noelle! Very, very pretty!"**

_**Belle et tu le sais.**_** – "Beautiful and you know it."**

_**De rien**_** – "Your welcome"**

_**Venez **_**– "Come on"**


	43. Chapter 43

**Aaaahhh... Good Friday...**

**Beautiful day, but highly depressing...**

**Here's your next chapter...**

**Sigh...**

Chapter 42

Luke wasn't happy. The temperature had dropped over the week and by Thursday it was too cold to use his bike, so he was forced back into the red pickup. He groaned at the thought of his beautiful crotch rocket just sitting gathering dust. So he was less than thrilled when he snapped on his seatbelt. And his unhappiness was only heightened by the fact that the entire school was running very late.

"_Venez alors!_" he yelled. "We gon' be late!"

Today he was wearing a white and black collared shirt and blue jeans over his brown leather jacket and black biker boots. Alana – diving into the backseat – was decked out in a pale yellow knee length, long sleeved dress, white leggings and white shoes. Sofy – climbing into the passenger seat – was in a red long sleeved, a brown skirt, and brown jodhpur boots. Noelle – slamming the other backdoor – wore a black turtleneck sweater, a short green, red, silver, and black plaid skirt, and black boots.

"Le's go!" his sister gasped, rubbing her hands together.

"Where da hell's y' jacket, Noelle?"

"In mah bag."

He glared at Noelle's red fingers. "An' a hell o' lot o' good i's doin' y' dere."

"_Ferme-la_, an' jus' get yo' ass in gear!" she snapped at him, breathing on her hands even as she yanked out her gloves.

Checking his mirrors, Lucien quickly started backing out.

"_Arête_!"

The Assassin came sprinting out of the building, his black messenger bag bouncing haphazardly on his shoulder, clad in a white T-shirt, black jeans, and black boots. The black jacket that Noelle had insisted he donate to the Boudreaux was dangling from his fist. The blonde also happened to be frantically waving his arms.

Luke hesitated a moment, his foot hovering just above the brakes, before his sister's boot crashed unceremoniously into the back of his seat.

"Stop, y' idiot!"

Grumbling darkly, the Cajun braked and allowed the Assassin to dive into the backseat, sliding in beside Noelle and ending up sprawled all over her lap.

"_Mon Dieu, c'est froid!_"

"No shit, Sherlock!" Noelle gasped. "Now get off o' meh!"

"_Désole_."

"Y'all done flirtin' back dere?" Luke demanded darkly. He was not in the mood to deal with this – San Francisco still hadn't gotten back to him and though he had gotten word back from LSU, he was still holding out for San Francisco, not to mention the ten page paper he had managed to crank out at three this morning.

Currently, he was thinking quite longingly of his nice, warm bed and couldn't even summon up the energy to snap at the Assassin for ending up across his sister's legs.

* * *

Vincent was the slightest bit depressed. It was March 18th – a frosty miserable day with a steel grey sky that threatened snow at any minute. But no matter what else it might be, today was his birthday and no one had made the slightest sign that they knew or cared.

His mother hadn't even called.

This was crappier than the time he and his cousins had caught a baby gator and tried to see what happened if you tried to raise the critter in a bathtub – Marius had lost a finger and his mother had shouted herself hoarse.

He sat, back hunched, in the library feeling sorry for himself when Saya – James' baby sister – came barreling into the room.

"Vinny! You're missing dinner!"

Closing _The Grapes of Wrath_, he walked with her to the dining room. A good whiff at the air told him that the LeBeaus had been cooking; something smelled thick, spicy, and utterly delicious. Beyond that, he could smell something sweeter…

Mmmm…

"Surprise!"

Vincent nearly cracked his head on the door frame as he leapt backwards and slid a knife from his pocket in one quick jerk. As he wheeled backwards, he crashed into Sofy and knocked Jake Alvers to the ground.

It took a moment to process the Happy Birthday banner above the dining room table, laden with jambalaya and shrimp and gumbo and something that looked rather like beef stroganoff and thick sausages and mushrooms drenched in white sauce and a few dozen 6-inch pizzas of varying toppings (though predominantly pepperoni or extra cheese).

Sofy gasped and put her hands to her mouth. Jake shouted and darted forwards to stare in awe at the mountains of food before him.

"Well," the Professor said, eyes twinkling from the head of the table. "It seems that we succeeded in surprising you all."

"Come and sit, hurry!" James called, beckoning them wildly. "This stuff's too good to pass up!"

Still not daring to believe what he was seeing, Vincent sat beside his roommate and best friend.

"Surprised?" Noelle – the Thie – the LeBe – no, _Noelle_ asked from across the table.

"Uh-huh…" was all he managed.

She laughed. "Believe _moi_, Vince, it was hard as hell not tellin' y'. Bet y' t'ought we'd fohgotten, _n'est pas_?"

A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "A little, yeah."

"_Bête fil!_ Anyways, _bon anniversaire_."

"_Merci."_

"Everyone! Your attention please!"

Everyone groaned as Scott Summers stood up. "I'm sure everyone knows that today is Vincent's 18th birthday and tomorrow is Sofy's 17th birthday and Jake's 9th birthday."

"Then why are you bloody well telling us?" James demanded, earning laughter all around and an evil glare from the older man.

"As I was saying, normally, we would have waited until tomorrow to throw this party but some among us felt that would have been unacceptable." The tightwad tightened his lips fiercely.

"Well, it would've," Noelle said flatly. "Vincent would've t'ought we fohgot 'im."

"_As I was saying_ since these birthdays are all so close together, we decided to lump all together in one big celebration."

"Like Presidents' Day?"

"Yes, Lisa," gritted out the X-men leader. "Now, since it seems that I can't get out much without being interrupted, I'll turn this over to the professor."

"Thank you, Scott," Xavier said courteously. "Now. Let's eat!"

"Here, here!"

And Vincent was taken aback once again by the sheer taste in the food. He stacked up on the jambalaya and sausages and ate until he felt sure he was going to burst.

Then, just to make sure, he ate a little bit more.

At some point in the dinner, he had gotten into a conversation with James and Noelle about the evils and advantages of AP exams.

"Dey take foheveh an' yo' hand's in agony afteh jus' da firs' half. Dat AP Euro Exam nearly killed meh."

"Yeah, and what was your score?" James asked, raising his eyebrows at Vincent.

"Got a 4."

"And that's why our Noelle is a shoo-in for valedictorian! The rest of us didn't get past 3."

"Dat's 'cause y' decided t' drink six cans o' Red Bull, proceeded t' cause chaos, den passed out da day fo' da exam." The girl raised her eyebrows at Vincent. "Don' do dat – it fries yo' brain. _Pauvre_ James could bareleh spell his own name rahght. Sahdes, Ah wouldn' wan' t' be valedictorian, i's borin' as hell an' y' gotta give a speech. Borin'."

Vincent laughed.

"Hey, Noelle!" Monica called, "What about the cakes?"

"'Course! How could Ah fo'get? 'Scuse meh, boys."

And she got up and walked away. In less than two minutes she was back, wheeling one of three carts that held a huge red-frosted cake even bigger than Sarah's birthday cake had been. Black words spelled out "_Bon anniversaire, Vincent!_". Just behind her was Julia, looking so smug you'd've thought she'd baked something herself (he desperately hoped she had not), was pushing in a four tiered tray cart. Each level was covered with small plates, which held a round brown cake about the size of his palm. Then came Storm, bringing in a huge rectangular blue frosted cake with toy cars all over it.

The thirty seconds it took for everyone to sing "Happy Birthday" (only a handful of the students could actually carry a tune) took a couple of eternity.

When the last warbling of "Happy Birthday to yoooooooouuuuuu!" died away, each birthday boy/girl was given the first piece.

Vincent eagerly sunk his teeth into the red piece he was given. It was chocolate. He was in heaven. Though he would be unable to move later on that night, he didn't regret a single bite.

The presents were the crowning touch, and at first he couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit guilty that he hadn't gotten Sofy or Jake anything, but when Jake started whooping over a remote control car from his parents and Sofy gasped over a new IPOD sent from Russia he felt far less ashamed and more disappointed at his own – far smaller – stack of presents.

There were several handmade cards, ITunes gift cards, a Saints' Super Bowl shirt, several books from a new series he liked, biker gloves, and a quality knife holster designed for his bicep. Not too bad but last year his cousin Nicolas had gotten a trip to Israel to learn from the Mossad – not the most luxurious gift but it had been what Nick had wanted and he had come back harder and happier than ever.

"Almost finished!" James said happily.

"What? Y' gon' eat mo'?" Vincent asked in shock.

James had eaten four bowls of jambalaya, three pizzas, two of those little chocolate filled cakes, two slices of Vincent's cake and three slices of Jake's cake.

"God, no!"

Vincent was staring to get nervous; this was the same gleeful look his roommate had gotten the time he had filled Alexei's boots with syrup. Suddenly Monica was at the Brit's shoulder, grinning brightly.

"Wha's goin' on?" he got up and started backing away.

"_Non, non, non!_" The Thieves were behind him – sporting the exact same smug grin. "We got somet'in' t' show y'!"

* * *

It was a motorcycle.

A 2009 Ninja. A black 2009 Ninja.

It was sitting between Noelle's gorgeous green and silver cycle and her brother's slick red bike.

He gaped.

"Do you like it?"

It took a moment for him to register Storm's words and then another moment for him to form the words. "Oh yes…"

"Tol' y' dis was da one he'd lahke!"

This attracted his attention immediately and he whipped around to look at Noelle. "Y' chose dis one?"

She grinned. "_Mais oui!_ Wha? Y' don' lahke mah taste?"

Vincent couldn't answer. He half-staggered forward and ran trembling hands over the gleaming metal. It was cool and smooth and the most wonderful thing he had ever touched in his life.

"We had hoped," the Professor was saying, "That the weather would be nice enough for you to take it out tonight, but it seems that even with Ororo's influences, you will have to wait until next week."

"Dis…" he sounded as though he hadn't tasted water in years. "Dis is fo' me?"

"'Course, man!" laughed Alex Masters-Summers, whacking him on the back in a friendly manner. "A guy needs to get something awesome for his eighteenth birthday!"

He stared at them all, from the teachers with their satisfied smiles and the students with their smirks and beams. He wanted to say something great and profound, or at least something that sounded moderately intelligent but all that came out of his mouth was: _"Merci."_

They understood and left him to further marvel at his incredible gift. Except Noelle.

But he hadn't expected her to.

She leaned on her bike and watched him stare at the brakes and signal lights. Neither said a word as he gaped over the powerful engine and sighed over the speeds he could reach.

"How long's dis been here?"

Noelle shrugged and knelt down on the concrete floor, laying her arms on the seat of her motorcycle and then resting her chin on top. "Logan an' us wen' t' get it dis mornin'."

"Da's why y' were late dis mornin'."

"_C'est vrai._"

"Why dis?"

"S' lahke Alex said, everybody should git somet'in' big fo' dey eighteenth birthday. 'S a big deal in mah _famille_. Wha' 'bout yo's?"

"Usually is. Not when y' on a mission, t'ough. Nut'in' matters when y' on a mission."

She watched him for a little bit longer before standing up.

A thought struck him, dragging his attention away from the gleaming cylinders. "_Un moment_, did y' say _toi et ton frère_ wen' wit' Logan t' get da bike?"

"Yo' bike. An' yeah, he did. We needed someone t' drahve yo' bike back." She set her hand on his shoulder. "_Bon anniversaire_. Hope y' enjoyed y' cake."

"_C'etait delicioux. Merci._"

* * *

The weekend was spent playing football on the lawn and Vincent found out very quickly that after running James down twice, tackling Charles, catching several balls, and making a touchdown that he didn't need the two sweat shirts and jacket he had pulled over his head. Even after shucking the first sweatshirt, he was sweating like crazy. Before he could peel off the final layer to his shirt, Julia Alvers hurled herself at his ribcage and they both fell to the ground with a thud.

When he managed to pry his eyes open, he found himself nose to nose with the petite brunette. Who happened to be blushing fiercely.

And leaning the tiniest bit forward.

Oh _merde_.

He quickly grabbed her shoulders and pushed her straight off, nearly lifting her body clear away from his and dropping her into a sitting position besides him. "_Desole__, petite_."

The girl's face crumpled as he stood up and offered her his hand politely. "Need a hand?"

"I'm fine, thank you!"

The next play Alexei flattened him so hard he heard something snap in the vicinity of his shoulder.

"Foul!" LeBeau and Edward Worthington howled, sprinting over to pull the two hundred plus pound Russian off of him and his throbbing collar bone.

"_Ca va_, Boudreaux?" LeBeau asked, dragging him out from under Alexei's bulk.

"I t'ink I jus' died."

"Keep dreamin', 'Ssassin, y' still in da world o' da livin'."

"Wha's wit' _ton ami_?"

"Alex? He's jus' pissed dat Julie's been hittin' on every guy in da Institute fo' da past two weeks."

"He flattened me fo' a girl?"

"'Course he did, da idiot's in love an' yo' competition. He'd flatten _moi_ in a heartbeat if he t'ought Ah wanted Julie."

As the other Cajun heaved him to his feet Vincent shot him a suspicious glance. "Y' bein' awfully polite t' _moi_, T'ief… what'd y' do?"

A look of long suffering patience spread across Lucien's face. "Mah sisteh seems t' t'ink Ah should be friends witcha an' since y' ain' done anyt'in' really bad, Ah mahght as play nahce."

Vincent started to smirk. "Dis don' mean we got' be bes' frien's, do it?"

"Désole, position's been filled."

"By who?"

"Da idiot who jus' flattened y'."

But still, the Sunday ended on a delicious note when Noelle came up to him and told him that Wolverine was unchaining the motorcycles.

"He chains 'em up?"

"'Course. Don' much see da point, dough. If we really wan'ed t' get 'em, a chain, padlock, an' motion sensors ain' gon' keep us away."

"Can anyt'in' keep a Master T'ief from gettin' what dey wan'?"

He had meant it as a rhetorical question but she answered him anyway, and with surprising seriousness. "Dey solemn word dat dey won' take it.

"Now, y' wan' come take _les motos_ out wit' us, o' not?"

"We kin take 'em out, now?"

"Wouldn' say we could if we couldn'."

"No' y' day t' lie?"

She grinned. "Da's rahght. Dat's tomorrow."

* * *

Noelle hummed to herself as she zipped up her leather jacket and swung her leg over the green and silver beauty she had gotten when she earned her Masters' mark. Sitting down lightly, she rearranged her bun and slipped her helmet on over it.

From either corner of her eyes she could see Lucien settling down on his red bike and Vincent sliding reverently down onto his black one.

As though they had rehearsed it, the three engines began as one, growling and roaring with all the strength of well cared for machines. And immediately they were surrounded by gasping teens and children.

Noelle had to shout to make herself heard. "Get yo'selves back!"

"Hold on, Mouse!"

To her and the guys' dismay, Wolverine was coming towards them, helmet under his arm. "I'm comin' with you."

"Why?" Luke asked loudly.

"I've known too many Cajuns to let you three wander off alone."

"How many y' met?" Vincent wanted to know.

Wolverine pointed at the two Thieves. "You, them and their father. That was more than enough."

"Gee, t'anks," Noelle said sarcastically. "Fahne, but hurry up, dis Vincent's firs' tahme on his bike."

And he was going to need all the practice he could get. Judging by the way he was sitting, he was more used to riding a Harley than a crotch rocket.

"_D'accord, mes amis!_" she cried, feeling her body tense deliciously – almost as though she was getting ready to fly – as she set her boots on the rests and revved. "Assume y' positions!"

"On da count o' t'ree!" her brother pitched in.

Wolverine rolled his eyes and slid the view plate down on his helmet.

"_Une_…" Luke's bike revved.

"_Deux_…" Logan's Harley snarled.

"_Trois!_"

Four motorcycles lunged forward – a sportscycle and a Harley lifting back into wheelies as they left the garage in a roar of squealing rubber and growling engines. Compensating expertly as her front wheel hit the asphalt, Noelle tore down the driveway, overtaking the others in a heartbeat. Her mother and father had taught her to ride when she was thirteen (the age when her legs were finally long enough to touch the footpegs) and at the fresh age of sixteen she could outride both of them.

Gunning her engine a hair more, she slipped between the impossibly small gap between the slowly opening gate. The others waited for a safer space before going through themselves, but she was already almost a mile ahead of them and gaining more of a lead every second.

An enhanced whistle caught her attention and she finally noticed she was alone. Shaking her head with a chuckle, Noelle slackened her speed and cruised along lazily until Wolverine came flying by, roaring as loud as his Harley.

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

She tilted her head up to meet his eye through her visor. "Would y' relax? Ah know how t' rahde."

Logan winced. "That's what your mom used to say right before she chipped my paint job."

"Wasn' dat 'cause y'all had t' cut t'rough da woods t' get away from da feds?"

The Canadian shifted on his bike. "Sorta. Where'd your mom learn to ride a bike, anyway?"

"From a guy _Tante _Irene was datin'. Come t' t'ink o' it, da guy was probl'y Mystique."

"Great. I put my faith in a girl who learned to ride from her psychotic adopted mother."

"It turned out fahne, didn' it?"

At that moment Luke came screeching along beside them. "Somebody's got' teach da _garçon_ how t' rahde. He's sittin' lahke he's on a damn Harley!"

"Ah take care o' it." Noelle dropped back with a tap of her brakes and came up alongside the struggling Vincent.

"How y' ride dis t'ing?"

"Y' tellin' _moi _y' neveh rode a rocket befoh'?"

"Ain' it obvious?"

"Kinda. Relax y' shoulders and lean oveh mo'. Hunch _un petit_… not, dat much!"

She eyed him critically as he rearranged his position on the bike.

"Dis better?"

"_Mon Dieu_, y' hopeless! Jus' follow _moi_ an' trah not t' fall off."

* * *

When they finally returned to the Institute, Vincent was shivering through the leather jacket, his back ached and his legs were sore, but he felt ridiculously pleased with himself. He had gotten it right.

He had ridden that damn, gorgeous bike correctly.

"How was dat?" he asked his teacher eagerly.

Noelle grinned at him. "Guess y' ain' hopeless afteh all. Y' rahde lahke mah mama."

"An' how's dat?"

"Pretty damn good."

He loved his new bike.

**Hmmmm... they're getting pretty friendly, aren't they?**

**REVIEW - and offer up some ideas, I'm running out!**

_**Venez alors!**_** – "So come on!"**

_**Ferme-la**_** – "Shut up"**

_**Arête**_** – "Stop"**

_**Mon Dieu, c'est froid!**_** – "My God, it's cold!"**

_**n'est pas**_** – "Right"**

_**Bête fil!**_** – "Stupid boy!"**

_**Bon anniversaire**_** – "Happy birthday"**

_**Pauvre**_** – "Poor"**

_**Mais oui!**_** – "Of course!"**

_**C'est vrai.**_** – "That's right."**

_**toi et ton frère**_** – "you and your brother"**

_**C'etait delicioux. Merci.**_** – "It was delicious. Thank you."**

_**Merde**_** – "Shit"**

_**Ca va**_** – "Are you okay?"**

_**ton ami**_** – "your friend"**

_**les motos**_** – "the motorcycles"**

_**D'accord, mes amis!**_** – "Alright, my friends!"**

_**Garçon**_** – ****"boy"**


	44. Chapter 44

**Registration and the housing search is over - say it with me: YEA!!!**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Chapter 43

_He lay on the ground on his belly. His lean, lithe body felt cramped and ridiculously stiff, and his wings itched to open so he could throw himself into the sky. But if he did that, he would disturb the snakes that lay all over him, particularly the huge yellow specimen that sat upon his head. _

_He was at the bottom of a deep, dark pit among the snakes and the dead carcasses of the creatures the snakes had killed. For as long as he could remember, he had been stuck at the bottom of this pit, unable to move for the snakes tangled up with his body. Above him, in the center of his black sky was a circle of clear, tantalizing blue. Sometimes the great, gleaming sun would hang right above the hole and he would be able to see the color of his scales. He was mostly red, with artful spots and stripes and designs of gold and black along his body and wings. Whenever the sun's rays reached him, he glowed and basked and wished to fly up and out of this pit so much that he trembled with longing._

_It was at these times that the yellow viper would tighten her grip around him._

_As the day passed, he lay still and dozed, dreaming of the feel of the wind under his wings and the sun making him shine. It was at about noon that he was awoken by the wrathful hissing of the snakes. Each one of them was upright and their mouths were open to reveal their terrible fangs._

_The yellow serpent had flared her hood and was spitting in wrath. _

_He looked up to see the oddest creature he had ever seen. _

_It was a bird, and not just any bird – it was a living bird. It was the color of hammered bronze with silver markings along the underside of the wings and the white belly. _

_It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And it was hovering just out of reach, its great wings flapping slowly and powerfully. Just behind it was a host of other winged creatures, birds of all kinds, griffins, winged horses, butterflies, bats, and even a few other dragons._

_But he had eyes only for the bird._

_For a long moment, he and the falcon looked at each other._

_He wanted to get up and get closer to it. He sat up and, for once, ignored the painful squeezing of the yellow snake._

_The bird swooped a little closer and let out a soft call. Then another. Then another. It was calling him._

_The yellow snake lunged for the bird but missed as the beautiful creature shot upwards with a single powerful sweep of its wings._

_He flared his wings and snarled, crying out in sorrow as the falcon left the pit with a loud screech._

_And he was left alone in that pit with the hundreds of angry snakes. They fell upon him, sinking their fangs into his scales as punishment, but all he could think about was that the falcon had left him alone in this pit with these creatures and gone back into the sun._

_But suddenly the falcon was back, hovering at the lip of the pit, shrieking._

_It was still calling him._

_And he couldn't follow. He was stuck._

_He couldn't follow._

_He was stuck._

Vincent awoke with a jerk.

He was drenched in sweat and panting as though he had just run a marathon.

James was snoring uproariously but he was too shaken to care. Sitting up, he ran trembling hands over his face and worked to steady his breathing. By the time he was finally able to draw smooth breaths, it was past two in the morning.

Groaning, he lay back down, rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Nothing.

He rolled onto his other side. Nothing.

After twenty minutes he gave up and climbed out of bed. He'd been having that same dream for the past week, stuck at the bottom of a pit covered in snakes and unable to fly away.

He was always the dragon in that dream, never a snake or one of the flying creatures. Always a dragon.

The young man made a note to research dream meanings – after all, his dreams with Noelle had been accurate, hadn't they?

The Institute was absolutely silent – the kind of silence you got when all of a house was asleep except for one person.

Vincent crept down to the kitchen and took out a pitcher of milk. He sat at the table and started in on the milk and the jar of chocolate chip cookies Alana Wagner had made last night.

"Good evening Vincent Boudreaux."

He nearly turned over the table as he leapt up to face the slender form of Bridget. "Bridget! What da hell?"

"Have you had your dream, Vincent?"

He glanced at her sharply. "What d'y' know 'bout dat?"

"I know everything."

A mirthless chuckle. "Oh right, I foh'got. Y' know what it was about?"

"I do. You were unable to fly because your family was holding you down."

"It was jus' a dream."

"Dreams have meaning. Especially yours."

"Sho'. Whatever."

Bridget smiled at him. "I will see you in the morning."

"_Arrêté!_"

She looked at him expectantly. "Yes?"

"Y' know what I'm gon' ask y'."

"Of course."

"Den answer it."

"I am not a Magic 8 ball, now please ask me the question aloud."

"All dis stuff 'tween _ma famille_ an' da T'ieves' _famille_… how'd it get started?"

"That is not what you want to ask."

He scowled at her, but asked, "What exac'lly happened 'tween _ma mère_ an' da T'ieves' _père_?"

"Why are you suddenly interested?"

"T'ought y' knew everything."

"I know everything someone will do. I cannot say why they do it – I am an oracle, not a telepath."

"Oh."

"So tell me why."

Vincent groaned, stuffed another cookie in his mouth, swallowed and then explained. "I'm getting' t' know de T'ieves pretty well. Dey're crazy an' dey break da rules but I cain' ever see dem actually tryin' t' hurt someone else jus' foh' da fun o' it. Dey don' seem like da type t' kill somebody even if dey t'ought dey could profit from it, neither. An' da way _ma mère_ tells it, dere _père_ jus' killed _mon oncle_ t' get 'im outta da way. If da's true, how'd _un batard_ like dat have kids who didn' even try t' kill _moi _after I tried t' kill dem?"

"From what I have observed, Remy LeBeau is a good man with… questionable methods, and I cannot say that I am surprised at how Lucien and the others turned out. Especially not with their mother Rogue also helping to raise them as well; I honestly couldn't see them turning out any other way."

"_D'accord_, so what about my question?"

"Ask Noelle about it. Good night, Vincent Boudreaux. Oh, and do not drink the apple juice. Use the chocolate milk instead. Good night."

Before he could pick up his jaw enough to demand for her to come back, Bridget was gone and one of the kids Noelle looked after came in.

She couldn't be more than fifty pounds soaking wet, had twin brown braids and huge teary brown eyes. She wore blue pajamas with monkeys all over them; their cheery faces only served to make her look more miserable.

Oh crap. "Wan' some chocolate milk?"

She sniffled and nodded.

He picked her up off the floor and set her on one of the kitchen stools. "Don' fall off, now."

"Won't."

It took only a minute to pour two glasses of chocolate milk and pull out the cookie jar.

"Oh, Noelle says I'm not s'pposed t' eat so late."

"It ain' late, i's early. Now wha's y' name, petite?"

She shyly took a cookie. "Allison…"

"_Enchante_, Allison. What're y' doin' up so late?"

Allison stared at her hands shamefacedly. "Had a nightmare."

He nodded and took a gulp of his milk. Whenever he had had nightmares as a child, his mother had somehow twisted it into a nightmare about Thieves, promised that he would kill them all when he was older, and then send him to bed. This had not helped when he dreamt he was falling or had walked into middle of the French Quarter in nothing but his underpants or the dreams where he was being buried alive.

Belladonna had not been the best shield against nightmares, if anything she had made it worse.

But still, this gave him something to work off of. Just do the opposite of whatever his mother had done.

Okay. He could do that.

"Tell me 'bout yo' dream, _petite_."

* * *

"And then he told me a story and took me back to my bed!"

"Realleh?"

Noelle was brushing out Allison's feather soft brown hair.

"Uh-huh, I like him. He's nice."

"Ah know, he's vereh nahce. Wha' d'y' wan' in y' hair?"

"The daisy clips."

"_D'accord_, hold still, _chérie_."

"Do you like him, Noelle?"

"_Oui_, he's vereh funny."

"Do you think he'll tell me another story if I ask him nicely?"

"Maybe, but not now, y' gon' be late. Go on, _petite_, fo' Miss Ororo leaves y' behind."

Giggling, Allison pulled on her green jacket and ran off down the hall to catch up with the other children, her hair now neatly pulled up with two white and green daisy hair clips.

This left all of the students getting ready to leave for the cruise alone in the house with the instructors, packing. James could be heard upending his desk as he searched for his passport. Vincent was printing out luggage tags and attaching them to his bags. Julia was very carefully packing her new cocktail dress into her suitcase. Sofy was tucking away a pair of sandals. Luke was folding several dress shirts to put into his suitcase. Alexei was packing his swimming trunks. Alana Wagner was dragging her younger brother out of her suitcase where he had – once again – stowed away. Monica was checking her purse for the umpteenth time. Charles was tucking away some money. Edward Worthington was assuring his mother that he would be careful himself and watch after his sister to protect her from perverted sailors. Bridget was tucking away an umbrella (seeing this made everyone else pack one as well). Sarah stuffed her tankini between her flipflops and her sunscreen. Noelle slipped her laptop and notebook into her messenger bag. Kelsey Crisp whistled as she packed her lucky anklet. Vassily wondered which tie he should bring.

It was eleven when Wolverine started yelling up the stairs for them to start bringing down their luggage. They loaded up their two regulation suitcases and/or duffel bags and then their carry-on bag into the pickup truck, the van, and the SUV.

Noelle dragged Sofy, Sarah, James, and Monica to bake Easter cookies for the students who would be stuck at the Institute for Spring Break (though the Professor had been hinting at a few days down in Orlando, Florida to enjoy Disneyland). Then it was time to eat a quick lunch - which was interrupted rather disgustingly when Charlie took a gulp of apple juice and found to his horror that the odd smelling juice was not juice at all while James and Vassily snickered in a corner - and double check paperwork, medication and go over the ground rules of the trip. The rules began and ended with "DO NOT USE YOUR POWERS!"

At half past one, they piled into the vehicles and left.

By the time they arrived to the dock, there was an impressive crowd gathered around the huge boat and some people were already boarding.

It was time to say goodbye.

"_Au revoir_, Logan," Noelle said, hugging the short man. "Make sho' dat Claire an' Grazi get on da plane safely t' _la ville_."

"And if I don't?"

"Den we kill y'. If Mama an' _Pere_ don' get dere firs'," Lucien said flatly.

Logan nodded. "I'll see the brats onto the plane. Now move your asses and don't fall off the ship."

"Don' get sen'imen'al on us, mon ami," Luke chuckled easily.

* * *

Alexei watched as New York faded into the distance, trying very hard not to watch Julia flirt with the other passengers. He remembered what Noelle had said: Julia was not tied to him; she could date and see whomever she wanted. But what if she got involved with someone like Denzel? She wasn't as strong as Noelle was – what if someone really hurt her?

"How are you doing?" Vassily asked, coming up beside him.

"I am alright."

"That is a load of bullcrap and you know it."

He shot a dark look at his brother. "You are annoying."

"I know. How do you like your room?"

"I am rooming with Luke. Charles and Edward are on our right. It will be very interesting."

"I'll say, two sons of former Acolytes and a bisexual with Charles Summers?"

"Eddie is a bisexual?"

"I'm a _what?"_ Tall, blond, trench-coated Edward Worthington had been passing behind them with his sister Monica.

"Relax, Eddie, your wings are going to show," Monica hissed.

"You thought I was _gay_?"

"No, I thought you were bisexual."

Eddie looked ready to strangle him.

"You mean to say that you are not bisexual?"

"No I am not bisexual!"

"Are you gay?"

"NO!"

"Are you sure –"

Alexei grabbed his brother and slapped a hand over his mouth. "Yes, he is sure, Vassily. Now shut up."

"But –"

"Shut up!"

* * *

The ship was incredible. It was almost 600 feet in length, had nine decks open to the public and almost every one of those decks contained something fascinating. Though three of the decks only contained the passenger cabins, Sofya was still completely blown away by the elegance.

It had a gorgeous formal dining room, then several smaller more casual places including a steakhouse, an Italian restaurant, a pizzeria, a barbecue grill, a buffet and a café. There was a pool, two hot tubs, a spa, a gym, a jogging track, something called a shuffleboard, golf, a library, a card room, shopping, an art and photo gallery, lounges, bars, a show theater, a movie theater, and even a small hospital.

They were given an hour to unpack before they were all called into Cabaret Lounge on the fifth deck to hear the captain's welcome speech. It was a slick, modern room with high tables with stools and low tables with neat little chairs. There were studio lights on the ceiling and tasteful pieces of abstract artwork on the walls. A bar was tucked away at the back of the room and there was a dance floor and a stage at the front.

Sofy sat at one of the tables with Lucien, Noelle and Edward.

"What do you think of the ship, Sofy?" Eddie asked.

"I have never seen anything like it before in my life! It is so big and beautiful…"

"Y've nevah seen a cruise ship, b'foh?" Noelle asked.

"Never."

At last, a stiff, middle aged man in a white uniform came marching in, going to the stage and facing them in a military style position.

"Everyone!" he called. "May I have your attention please? Allow me to offer my sincerest welcome to the ship Mercury's Jewel. My name is Donald Carter and I will be your captain. Thank you for choosing us to take you through the beautiful Atlantic Ocean to the tropical Caribbean. I would like to take this time to remind you of a few of the ground rules.

"I see that we have quite a few younger passengers and would like to remind everyone that we adhere to the drinking restrictions of the United States, not the international ones. Therefore no one under the age of twenty-one will be allowed anything alcoholic and the bartenders and waiters reserve the right to request proof of age from any passenger before giving an alcoholic beverage. In addition, the casinos are off limits to anyone under the age of thirteen. Those between the ages of fourteen and seventeen are prohibited from the casinos and card rooms unless accompanied by someone eighteen years old or older. Rules concerning the fitness center, spa, and pool are posted at their respective locations. You will find a complete list of the rules in your rooms. Please take a moment to look them over. Also in your rooms is a schedule and description of all of the events we offer. Take a moment to look over them, I can assure you that you won't want to miss any of the entertainment we have planned for you all."

He clapped his hands together in a businesslike way. "Please remember that every employee on the Jewel is dedicated to making your stay with us as enjoyable as possible, so please do not hesitate to ask questions or give your concerns.

"On a final note, I would like to remind some of our more… eccentric… guests that there are other guests on board who may find some of your antics disturbing and even rather dangerous or unacceptable. Please be respectful to others' feelings. Once again, welcome to Mercury's Jewel and enjoy your stay."

"Wondeh who he was talkin' to jus' den," Luke muttered sarcastically.

"Guess da Prof, musta tol' 'im."

"At least he didn't call us out," Eddie pointed out fairly. "For all everyone else knows, there may just be a club of nudists on board."

Noelle and Sofy burst into giggles.

"Everyone! Everyone!" called a young woman in a trendy white sailor suit. "Dinner is now being served in the Panorama Buffet. You will find it on Deck 9 on the aft side. If you have reservations at one of our other locations you may make your way to them now. Please don't hesitate to ask for directions to your dinner location!"

"Well, I don't know about you guys," Eddie said, standing up. "But I'm starving. Shall we try and find this Panorama place?"

"Sho'." Luke left the table, offered his arm to Sofy.

Blushing and smiling by turns, she slid her arm through his and they made their way through the crowds to the elevator. It took them up to the 9th deck, where they found the spa, the pool, and finally on the other end of the boat, the Panorama Buffet.

Sofy had never seen so much food. There was a salad bar, a pizza bar, a taco bar, every kind of bar you could think of. There were places to get burgers, hotdogs, Chinese food, pasta, sushi, hot wings, and that was just one half the room. The other tables were piled high with deserts.

As they walked to the food, James passed them by, staggering under the weight of food enough to feed four sumo wrestlers. "I bloody love this place!"

**REVIEW!!**

_**Arrêté!**_** – "Stop!"**

_**la ville**_** – the city/New Orleans**


	45. Chapter 45

**And here is your new chapter! **

**Thanks for all of your awesome reviews - especially to notsosilentobserver. Your reviews make me all fuzzy inside ;)**

**Anyway, don't own blah, blah, blah.**

**Enjoy:**

Chapter 44

It was Easter. It was also five in the morning. And Noelle and Edward Worthington were sneaking back onto the ship after an early morning flight around the ship. Both were dressed in dark clothes, though there was nothing to be done about Eddie's golden wings, and as soon as his feet touched the deck, he dove for the trenchcoat that hid them.

"Wish we could do this in broad daylight."

"Da _capitain_ as'ed us not t'. An' he took us bein' mutants pretty well, so we mahght as well humor him."

"I guess…"

Noelle was in a very good mood as she hurried down to her cabin. Or, more accurately, the cabin she shared with Sarah. The other girls were still all asleep, but the young Cajun was far too alert to even think about laying her head down. So she hopped into the shower and enjoyed a very slow, hot shower to rinse off the sea salt caking on her skin from the sea water.

When she finally climbed out, there was steam everywhere and she could probably write an entire novel on the steamed up mirror. Toweling herself off, she changed into her Easter dress. It was actually just a white sundress with a neat pale green sash but it looked good just the same. As she opened the door back into the room, Sarah was waiting for her.

The short brunette looked grumpy and distinctly ruffled. Half the hair on the left side of her hair was sticking out awkwardly.

"Ah, _chère_, dat is some bad bedhead," Noelle commented, reaching out to try and tame the rebellious hair.

"Leave it!" growled Sarah, staggering past her into the bathroom. "You'd better not have used all of the hot water!"

"An' on dat note, Ah will leave. Au revoir, Ah leave y' t' y' cold shower."

Grabbing her laptop bag, Noelle hurried away to find a private niche where she could at last do what she hadn't done for forty days. She chose the café – it had the comfiest couches.

Settling into a particularly soft one, she unpacked her laptop, switched it on, and waited while it loaded up. For Lent, Noelle had chosen to give up writing her first novel and after forty days she was just itching to get the rest of the plot out. For the next hour and a half she typed and typed, ignoring the dozen or so young men who had come sneaking into the café to stare at her. Only when her stomach started making desperate pleas for attention did she tear her attention away from the antics of her hero Lorenzo.

And came face to face with about twenty hungry, horny teenage boys.

How to escape…

AHA!

"Vincent!" With lightening speed, she had her laptop back in her bag, had crossed the room in her sandals, and had looped her arm through his.

"Wha' da hell're y' –"

She shut him up with a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Jus' shut up an' keep walkin'!" she hissed, never letting her smile waver.

As soon as they were out of sight, Noelle released Vincent's arm. "_Désole, mon ami._"

"Wha' da hell was dat about?" the Assassin demanded, face turning red with anger.

"Dose idiot boys're gon' be followin' _moi_ f' da whole cruise if dey t'ink Ah'm single." She gave him meaningful look.

"_Quoi?!_ _No! Non, non, non! __Absolument pas!_"

It took quite a bit of control to keep from laughing and rolling her eyes. "Ah ain' askin' f' y' firs'born! Jus' askin' y' t' at least act lahke we an item. Jus' t' keep dem boys away. Please?"

He scowled and considered for a long minute. "_D'accord_… but y' got t' meet moi by da pool afteh breakfast so I c'n ask y' somet'in'. An' dat… dat diary t'ing…"

"You do dis fo' meh, an' dat nevah happened," she agreed easily. If this was all he wanted in exchange for such a huge favor then… "Wha's da question?"

A slow wicked grin she had never seen him make spread across his face. "Y' find out later. Y' accept my terms?"

Noelle gave a sanctimonious little nod. "_Mais oui, Monsieur Boudreaux. Nous avons un accord._"

His grin widened and he took her hand and bowed over it. "_Merci, Mademoiselle LeBeau._"

She laughed and took her hand back. "Easy dere, _mon ami_. _Mon père_ et _ma mère_ tol' meh all about smooth talkers lahke you, _M'sieu_, so y' c'n take y' charm elsewhere. See y' at _la piscine_."

Hiking her messenger bag a little higher up on her shoulder, she left him and headed off to the tenth deck where they were serving a special Easter breakfast. It took longer than usual to get there since she had to dodge around and wade through group after group of small children searching enthusiastically in the nooks and crannies of the ship for Easter eggs.

At one point she stopped to watch one especially tiny little girl in a pink Easter dress with a matching pink hat trying to get at an egg tucked into a niche that also held a very expensive imitation Ming vase.

"Whoa dere, _chérie_. Y' gon' break da vase." Noelle grabbed the blue plastic egg and handed it to the child. "Dere y' go, sugah."

The girl stared up at her in awe and whispered an almost noiseless "Thank you".

She gave the shy creature a friendly grin. "No worries, _petite_. See y' 'round."

The area devoted to steaks and Italian cuisine had been transformed into a wonderland of green crepe paper, spring flowers – especially lilies and daffodils – erupted from every available space, and empty wicker baskets especially for egg-hunting children. The tables each had white table clothes and were sprinkled with pale yellow and white petals. A long series of tables had been set up along the walls, loaded up with breakfast fare.

It took only a few minutes to find Kelsey, decked out in an orange sundress, and Sarah, in a soft shade of purple. Kelsey was scarfing down donut holes like she hadn't eaten in months. Sarah was sedately eating a fruit salad.

"_Bonjour, mes amis. Bon Pasqual_."

"Happy Easter to you, too," Sarah said around a mouthful of cantaloupe.

"What she said."

Noelle loaded up her plate with a croissant, butter, several pieces of fruit and a cup of coffee, then took a seat at the table with them.

"So wha's on y' agendas f' today?"

"I'm totally going back for another lesson with Señor Antonio!" Kelsey proclaimed, stabbing the air with her fork.

"I would think the tango lesson yesterday would have been enough."

The cruise line offered dance lessons taught by a very handsome European instructor. Yesterday had been all about tango and most of the girls in the lesson had jumped at the chance for the sexy Senor Antonio to put his muscular arms around them. It had been an utter disaster.

Noelle was still wondering if she should tell Kelsey that Señor Antonio was gay when Charles Summers started retching over the side of the boat and they ran to keep him from falling overboard.

* * *

Vincent grabbed his trunks from where they were hanging on shower rod with the James'. They were new, red with black stripes along the outside.

He wasn't planning on swimming, but it would look weird if he was just sitting beside the pool in jean cutoffs. So he pulled on the trunks and a white muscle shirt and headed up to the pool.

By the time he got to the deck, everyone else was already on deck, stretching out on deck chairs, swimming in the pool, or relaxing in the hot tubs. It took a moment to find Noelle.

She lay on a deck chair in a patch of light reading a book.

He immediately recognized the green and white bikini she was wearing, though not the sarong around her hips. Silver sunglasses were perched on top of her head and flipflops were abandoned under her chair. Judging by the state of his lower body and the looks she was getting from the majority of the young male passengers, she was hot as hell.

"_Bonjour, Vincent_," she said, not looking up from her book.

"_Bonjour_, T'ief."

She swatted him with her book. "Ah call y' bah yo' name, kindleh use mahne, Vincent."

He sighed and sank down on the chair besides her. "_Bonjour_, Noelle."

Noelle smiled brightly up at him. "_Merci_, Vincent."

There was a moment of companionable silence.

"Was dere somet'in' y' wan'ed t' ask meh?"

"Is y' _maman_ as pretty as you?" popped out of his mouth.

A small fond smile. "Even prettieh. Papa says she one o' da mos' beautiful women in all da South."

Vincent immediately thought of his own beautiful mother with her grace, her pride, her fierceness… He had always thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world and wondered how he could ever choose a wife when he had been exposed to someone like his mother. He had also wondered how anyone could have chosen a Mississippi River Rat over the beauty of New Orleans, Belladonna Boudreaux.

"Wha's she like?"

"Real kind an' sweet, sometimes. She got a nasty temper, an' a crazy sense o' humor – she always sayin' she needs it t' deal wit' us an' Papa. She from Mississippi."

"Real Southern girl, den."

"_Tu le sais_. Well, she's mah mama so Ah'm always gon' be _un petit_ bit biased, _tu sais_?"

The minute the next question slipped out, Vincent knew his efforts at being subtle and casual were about to crash and burn. "_Et ton père_?"

Noelle looked straight at him. "Dis yo' question? 'Bout da duel?"

He didn't answer, merely looked from her to his knees, then back again.

She released a great sigh and slumped forward. "Vincent, firs' t'ing y' need t' understan' is dat dis what _mon père_ tol' moi, an' Ah believe him. He ain' eveh given _moi_ a reason not t' trust him. _Comprends_?"

"_Oui, je te comprends._"

"_D'accord._ Well… y' know y' mama an _mon père_ an knew each ot'er when dey were kids, rahght?"

"_Ouais._"

"_Bon_, dey met 'foh Jean-Luc eveh foun' _mon père_ an dey got t' be frien's. Even afteh Papa got adopted, he an' Mam'selle Belladona stayed frien's. But den he met Julian."

"_Mon oncle_."

"_C'est vrai_, an' Julian hated _mon père_ from da start. Dey was always fightin' an' yo' mama was always havin' t' get b'tween 'em. Da guild war wasn' helpin' an' by da tahme _mon père_ was 'bout twen'y he was sick o' everyt'in'. He lef' _la ville_ an' came up North an' worked fo' _M'sieu_ Lehnsherr –"

"Magneto?"

"Yup, he used t' be a real mutant supremist. But anyway, dis how he met _ma mère_. Ran rahght into her."

"Love at firs' sight?"

She laughed. "No' quite, but da importan' t'ing is dat dey met an' dey jus' kep' runnin' inta each ot'er. Afteh a whahle, _mon père_ got told dat Jean-Luc'd been taken bah yo' _famille_. 'Course _mon père_ didn' have da slahghtest idea o' where dey were keepin' Jean-Luc so he… um… got some help."

"How d'y' mean?"

"He kidnapped ma mama an' took her down t' N'Awlins."

Vincent blinked very fast. "Yo' mama married da guy who kidnapped her? Don' dey got a name f' dat? Stockade syndrome?"

"Stockholm, _cher_, but dat don' come 'til later. Anyways, dey wen' down an' dey rescued Jean-Luc. Mama wen' back t' Bayville an' _Père_ stayed in _la ville_. An' dat's where da problem realleh started.

"Afteh da kidnappin' fiasco an' da rescue, da two Guilds started wonderin' how dey could bring some peace. Ah'm sho' y' know what dey decided."

Up until this point he had been hearing things he had never known and he was glad to be able to say that yes, he did know something. "Da marriage."

"Yup. Y' c'n imagine how happy _mon père_ was. Comin' t' save his father's ass when he didn' have t' an' den he was getting' roped inta a marriage he nevah agreed to."

A sharp feeling of being insulted arose in his chest. "Didn' he wan' t' be married t' _ma mère_?"

Noelle folded her legs and sat on them. "It wasn' yo' mama – he lahked her jus' fahne – i' was bein' told t' marry her dat pissed him off. _Comprends?_"

Vincent shifted uncomfortably and stared fixedly at the ocean waves. He did understand; it was how he was starting to feel.

"But _mon père_ didn' love y' mama. He lahked her well enough an' he tol' meh dat he mighta married her if no one had said anyt'in', but now he was getting' pushed inta it. An' since dere was a lot ridin' on da marriage an' da treaty he wen' t'rough wit' it. Yo' mama planned everyt'in' down t' da las' flower petal an' when da day came she an' _mon père_ said dere vows and was married. But at da reception, he wen' t' get a smoke wit' _mon oncle_ Henri, an' Julian was waitin' fo' 'em, drunk an' armed."

This he had never heard. He leaned towards the storyteller, searching for some trace that she was lying. There was none; she looked tired and rather sad.

"Wha' happened?"

Noelle looked out to sea for a long moment before saying. "Julian challenged _mon père_ t' a duel. Mon pere nevah tol' meh how it wen' – would onleh eveh say dat he won an' Julian died. Ah had t' ask _Oncle_ Henri. He tol' meh dat da weapon o' choice was knives an' mah daddy won. He lef' yo' uncle on da groun', alive but humiliated. Henri said dat Julian jus' got up when _mon père_'s back was turned an' jumped on him. Papa turned aroun' jus' when Julian was on top o' him an' slashed his knife. An' jus' lahke dat, _ton oncle _was dead.

"Obviously Papa couldn' jus' stick aroun'. When it was obvious dat Julian was dead Henri stuck _mon père_ on bahke an' tol' him t' get outta town. So he lef' an' wen' t' da Institute. Not too long afteh, he got word dat _ton grand-père_ had put a price on his head. So he didn' go back, he stayed at da Institute. His marriage got annulled in less 'n a month an' he started datin' ma mama.

"Does dat answer y' question?"

If it did then it went against everything his mother had ever told him. "What about _mon grand-père_? _Et mon père_?"

She frowned at him. "Ah always heard Marius died from a heart attack. Dat's what _ma famille_ said. An' nobody knows who _ton père_ was. Apparently she jus' showed up pregnant. Don' y' know?"

"_Maman_ tol' _moi_ dat his name was Lazare Mercier an' dat yo – some T'ieves killed him an' Marius."

Her lips tightened. "Well, Ah ain' eveh heard o' _ton père_ so Ah cain' tell y' if dey did o' not, but Ah c'n tell y' dat dey didn' kill Marius – he died rahght aroun' da tahme _mes parentes_ foun' out dat Lucien was on da way. Dere's a rumor dat _ton grand-père_ died o' shock when he foun' out 'bout Luke. 'Sahdes, somet'in' tells meh dat _ma famille_ wouldn' stop braggin' if dey had killed y' mama's lover an' da Guildmasteh o' da Assassins."

Vincent bit his lip. This was a very good point. Of course, this girl could be lying through her teeth to him… but something told him that she wasn't. He had to jerk his attention back to her when she began to speak again to him.

"Now, does dat answeh y' question?"

The Prince stared at her and then redirected his gaze out at the bright ocean. "_Ma mère_ tol' _moi_ dat _ton père_ killed Julian pere afteh da marriage so he could get outta da marriage."

"D'y' believe dat?"

Less than three months ago he would have said yes without question, but now… "I don' know… Don' know what t' t'ink… I don' even know y'… why should I believe y' over my own _Maman_?"

There was a shift besides him and Vincent nearly fell off the chair off as Noelle slid over to his chair and leaned against him. It took a moment for him to spot the boys turning away, looking fiercely disappointed, another to regain the use of his tongue, and then yet another to remember their deal and slide an arm around her shoulders stiffly. "Dis mean y' ain' mad at _moi_ f' not bein' sure I believe y' story?"

She shrugged gracefully against him. "Ah onleh as'ed y' t' lis'en, nevah as'ed y' t' believe _moi_. I's what Ah believe… so no, Ah ain' mad."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, long enough for him to breathe in her magnolia scent and feel the warmth of her lithe body.

"Hey, dude, watch it!"

The two turned around to see some of Noelle's would-be suitors horse-playing around near the table where Eddie Worthington was playing chess with Vassily.

What happened next was a typical accident in the lives of the X-Men.

One of the idiots shoved his friend right into the back of Eddie's chair and when the stumbling kid reached out a grasping hand to catch his balance he grabbed right onto Eddie's trenchcoat.

_Rrrrrriiiiiiiip_

As the guy went careening backwards, his disguise came apart – literally – and his huge wings spilled out in all their brilliant golden glory.

Horrified gasps and screams filled the pool area as everyone stared at him.

Vincent and Noelle stood up. So did the other Xavier students.

And so did over two dozen of the other guests.

"A freak!" roared a particularly beefy man with an impressive mustache and beer gut. "Friends of Humanity arise! Get him!"

"_Tu dois me plaisanter!_" she hissed, echoing his thoughts exactly.

Couldn't they go anywhere anymore without running into bigots?

Apparently not, he answered himself as one of the 'Friends' threw a punch at Eddie. The idiot's fist collided with Eddie's open palm and the mutant tossed him away like a rag doll. At that, their friend was completely surrounded.

"So much f' anonymity," he muttered to her as they darted forward to give their assistance.

The crowd around Eddie whirled around, looking horrified as Alexei grabbed a handful of them, lightly picked them up and dumped them into a hot tub. Kelsey ran her hands along enemy flesh, letting her bioelectricity shock them into submission – just enough to make their limbs go numb. LeBeau's sound blasts wrecked the humans' eardrums, making them stagger like drunks as their balance was utterly destroyed.

Noelle used no powers, merely slammed the heel of her palm into one guy's jaw, punched another in the gut, kicked one's knees squarely, and darted from person to person.

The fight continued. Despite the obvious favor in the humans' favor because of their larger numbers, there being almost forty guys against only ten teenagers, they were winning.

Vincent grabbed one guy who had jumped on his back to try and strangle him, fell to one knee, and tossed him over his shoulder.

"STOP!" The yell was punctuated by a whistle worthy of Dr. McCoy back at the Institute.

Everyone froze.

Captain Donald Carter stood on the other side of the pool with several large men he must have borrowed from the Navy SEALS or maybe the Marine Corps, each holding a semi-automatic rifle.

"Finally!" yelled the Friends of Humanity ring leader, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. "Shoot those freaks!"

"Miss Woods!" barked Carter, standing very still and staring at them all. "What happened?"

The tall Baywatch worthy lifeguard scurried over from where she had taken cover under a table. "Ummm… one of the guests fell down on one of the mutants and his wings popped out. Then that gentleman shouted for a fight. Then that winged gentleman's friends came to help him… ummm… and then you showed up."

"I see…"

The Captain's storm-grey eyes zeroed in on the Friends of Humanity. "If you all will kindly join me in the hall."

When all of the humans were outside, except for those who hadn't been fighting (all of whom were pressed against the wall, staring at the mutants as though they were about to leap on them and tear them to pieces), the students of Xavier Institute gathered together and stared at each other.

"Was it just me or did we actually not get blamed?" Kelsey asked.

"_Non_, I t'ink he actually sided wit' us," Vincent said in blatant shock.

"But I do not think they did," Alexei said, gesturing to the left over people still staring at them.

* * *

"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Wilson," said Mr. Sinister politely.

"No problem!"

"Now, as I am sure you are all aware, the students of the Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters are currently enjoying their spring break –"

"How would we know that?" Deadpool piped up, waving his hand in the air enthusiastically.

"Because I told you. Now, I have received information that suggests that the night they return to the Institute will be the perfect night in which to seize Miss Claire LeBeau."

"Who told you that?"

The courteous mad scientist closed his red eyes in an obvious bid for patience. "You did, Mr. Wilson."

"Oh. Then it must be right!"

"Indeed, now as I was saying…"

**So... opinions? Questions? Comments? And while enjoy seeing "Great/good work" in my reviews - please try and say something extra so I know I'm doing good.**

_**Quoi?!**__**No! Non, non, non! **__**Absolument pas!**_** – "What?! No! No, no, no! Absolutely not!"**

_**Mais oui, Monsieur Boudreaux. Nous avons un accord.**_** – "Of course, Mister Boudreaux. We have an agreement.****"**

_**la piscine **_**– "the pool"**

_**Bonjour, mes amis. **__**Bon Pasqual**_** – "Hello, my friends. Happy Easter."**

_**Tu le sais**_** – "You know it"**

_**Comprends**_** – "[Do you] Understand"**

_**Oui, je te comprends.**_** – "Yes, I understand you."**

_**C'est vrai**_** – "That's right"**

_**Tu dois me plaisanter!**_** – "You must be joking me!"**


	46. Chapter 46

**Sorry for the lateness of this chapter but it gets better - I've got finals all this week so don't expect a chapter next week.**

**Keep the reviews coming - I'm gonna need 'em to keep my morale up.**

**Anyway, special thanks to awsmninja for his/her awesome reviews. Glad to see I've got a new fan!**

**And without further ado: the next chapter!**

Chapter 45

Julia jogged with Sarah, Sofy, and Noelle. She tried not to notice that Sarah and Noelle had been sprinting for almost fifteen minutes without flagging while she herself could only jog lightly. Even Sofy had a comfortable canter going.

It was two days since the whole ship had found out about their being mutants. There were no more puppydog eyed guys following Noelle, Bridget, Sarah, or Julia. All of the girls, except for Julia, were very happy about this. Almost every other passenger was giving them the silent treatment except for a tiny girl with a thick upper Park Avenue accent who had taken a great liking to Noelle, much to her parents' horror. The captain had given them all permission to use their powers so long as they did no damage and only one small expression of power – Alexei lifting up a laden dinner table with one hand, Kelsey messing with the party lights, or even just Alana changing her hair color in public – tended to empty the room of any humans.

Though it was an incredible ending to what could have been an utterly horrific day – Julia just couldn't be happy.

Alexei wasn't speaking to her. He had probably found a girl who had outright told him that she liked him – that she was practically in love with him – and he had said it back to her…

"Umm… I'm, like, gonna take off!" she called to her friends.

"Alright!" Sofy said back, not breaking stride. "See you at lunch!"

She couldn't bear to ask Sofy if Alexei was seeing someone.

Damn it! She should've listened to Noelle and Monica… and Alana… and James… and Lucien… and Vincent and… well, anyway, she should have listened to them and maybe she would be going out with the guy she'd liked since the day he had arrived at the Institute over four years ago.

Her and Sofy's room was being cleaned by a slender elderly woman who froze at the sight of her.

"Don't mind me," Julia hastened to tell her. "I'm just in here for a shower."

By the time she had showered and redressed, the maid was gone, leaving a handful of chocolates on either pillow. This, combined with her favorite pink and white sundress, should have made her feel better, but all she could think about was how Alexei had just walked right past her this morning without so much as a hello. It was making her heart ache.

She shook herself. Today they would be docking in Bermuda and she intended to have as good a time as possible.

With that bracing thought in mind, she walked from the room and made her way up to the stairs that would take her to the uppermost deck where she could watch out for land. Walking down the halls in the ship reminded her of walking through the halls at school, everyone getting out of her way as though she had the plague, the harsh looks, the…

Ouch!

A short scream escaped her as something (or someone) collided into her ankle, making her crash to the ground. A throbbing pain in her ankle told her she had a sprain.

Tears immediately gathered at her eyes and she considered going diamond – no, that would put more weight on her ankle.

Everyone around her continued on as though they couldn't see her crying quietly on the ground. This made the tears come faster, even as she bit her lip and told herself to get a grip.

She ended up crawling to the wall and then sliding herself up onto her feet to continue walking up to the upper deck; she had started and by God she was going to finish getting up there. But her sandals, so cute and trendy when she had bought them were murder on her ankle and she limped badly.

It ached so badly that she ended up having to take a break and sit down on the final steps that would at last take her up to the final deck. Sitting there alone, the young woman let the tears trickle down her cheeks and drop into her lap. She wished her mother was here, with her sympathy and kindness, or her father, who would get her ice and carry her up to the deck and make sure that she got the best seat…

"Julia?"

Julia snapped her eyes closed tightly and went very still. Maybe she had imagined it – please say she had imagined it!

"Julia?" Alexei repeated. "Are you crying? What is wrong?"

She looked up at him. There. There was the look she hadn't seen for so long, that look that was just for her, whether he was happy, exasperated, angry, or concerned.

"I… I was just going up on deck and I hurt my ankle."

"Oh dear." He bent his considerable height and knelt before her. "Let me see."

The huge hands took her foot with surprising gentleness and felt it tenderly. "Oh yes, that is a nasty sprain. Well, Monica said she would up here as well; we can go and find her. She will be able to heal your foot easily."

"Great." Reaching up, she grabbed his arm and started trying to heave herself upright.

Alexei instantly moved to stop her. "No, Julie, none of that, you will hurt yourself further… Here –"

His arms came around her and suddenly she was off the ground as though she weighed no more than a feather. The sudden change of height – having gone from about three feet above the ground to over six feet from the floor – made her start a bit and throw her arms around her friend's powerful neck.

"It is alright, Julia," he said kindly. "I have got you."

In more ways than one, she added silently as he carried her up the stairs and out into the sunlight.

"Sir!" called one of the workers on the deck, hurrying over. "Is your friend alright?"

"It is only a sprained ankle," Alexei assured him. "But I would be very much obliged to you if you could bring us some ice."

"Right away!"

"Julie?" Alexei said quietly, as he settled her down on a vacant deck chair with an incredible view. "I am sorry for my behavior the last few days. It was rude of me to –"

"Alexei?" she said, cutting him off. "Could you… not apologize?"

He looked utterly taken aback. "What would you have me do then?"

Julia looked up at him and cocked her head. She opened her mouth, couldn't speak, and licked her lips instead. "If I have to tell you, then you shouldn't do it."

She was pretty sure she had said something else, but it was completely wiped from her mind by the very incredible kiss she was getting.

They parted abruptly as what appeared to be every Xavier student onboard appearing out of nowhere and screaming, "IT'S ABOUT TIME!!!"

* * *

Noelle was in an exceptionally good mood as she threw herself onto the white sands of the Bermudan beach. Alexei and Julia had finally gotten together, the weather was gorgeous, Alexei and Julia had gotten together, she had gotten in a good flight and run in this morning, Alexei and Julia had gotten together, the water was crystal clear, and had she mentioned Alexei and Julia had gotten together?

It had been a wonderful day; she and the others had gone on a glass bottom boat tour around the island, walked through the village, visiting the museums and the aquariums, shopping and eating before going to the beach to relax.

She pulled her shorts and tank top off and joined the boys as they horse played in the water. She grabbed her brother around the neck and the two fell over with splash. Alexei threw her through the air and suddenly Monica and Sarah had appeared to tackle the huge Russian. A full out war erupted between girls and boys, water and laughter everywhere.

Julia grabbed James around the hips and managed to swing him off his feet as Luke tossed Sofy into the water. Kelsey was grappling with Charles, each trying to dunk the other. Alana pulled Vassily off his feet and the two disappeared under the water. Noelle erupted from the water behind Vincent and caught him around the shoulders.

Immediately she found herself flipping over backwards into the water. As soon as she hit the sand, she zeroed in on his knees and hit them as hard as she could. He crumpled at the same time she surfaced, swinging her long auburn bangs off her face.

It took a few moments for him to come back up for air. At which point he gaped at her for approximately one minute. She returned his stare for as long as she could hold a straight face, before unleashing a stream of seawater into his face. Vincent stared at her, water dripping from his dark blond hair.

Then he was throwing his head back and laughing wildly.

Noelle grinned.

* * *

When they finally made it back to the ship, the sun was bright orange and sinking beneath the horizon. Vincent was still damp, and the parts of his body that were dry were caked with sea salt, his body ached slightly from weariness, and he had been roped into helping Julia and Kelsey carry their million or so purchases back to the ship. He cast covetous looks to where Eddie Worthington was talking to Noelle about her own purchases – at least he hoped she had purchased them – all of which fit neatly into a very small plastic bag.

But he was happy. Today had been one of the best days he had ever had, despite it being the first day a Thief had spit on him and he hadn't tried to kill them.

Heat spread up the back of his neck as he thought of it.

Handing the girls their packages, he and James made their way to their room for showers and a change of clothes. Tonight was a night for club dancing in one of the lounges and both he and James were ready for some serious fun.

So they called in for room service to bring them some dinner as they got ready: there was a red button down shirt and black pants for James and a black button down shirt and black pants for Vincent.

They ate the Italian sausage sandwiches on garlic bread that had been brought to them, then the generous slices of carrot cake, all the while gulping down Coke.

"So have you ever been to a club before, mate?" James asked.

"_Mais oui_, course I have. Used t' go all de time when I was back in N'Awlins. What about you?"

"Oh, I've been to a fair few clubs. Me mum didn't much like me going, though. But she was never too fond of clubs, doesn't like being around crowds of people, you know."

Vincent chewed thoughtfully. "Well, I c'n tell y' f' sho' dat dat ain' _ma mère_. She loves da spot light – I k'n remember her standin' up at ot'er peoples' weddin's an' interruptin' brides an' grooms in da middle o' dere speeches jus' so she could say somet'in'. She had _moi_ goin' out clubbin' befo' I was fifteen."

"No way!"

"_C'est vrai._ I wasn' very fond o' it, t' be hones'. All dat noise an' lights gave moi a headache, but she said I needed t' get da lay o' da city."

"So you never enjoyed it?"

"If I was wit' _mes amis_ o' I met a cute girl. Den I enjoyed myself very much."

"I'll bet. Well, mate, this ship is crawling with cute girls – just keep your mitts off mine – and even if you can't find one who'll have you, you've still got us!"

"Dat's comfortin'."

"It bloody well should be!"

There was a knock at the door.

It was Monica, decked out in gold mini skirt, a skin tight black tank top, black fishnet stockings and black heels. "Well? What do you think?" She gave an extra little spin to show off her sexy outfit.

Taking one look at James' hanging jaw and round eyes, Vincent correctly guessed his friend to be too starstruck to answer competently or even coherently and answered for him. "Judgin' by _mon ami_'s expression, I'm guessin' Helen o' Troy's got nut'in' on you, _cherie_."

The New Yorker giggled in delight. "You really think so, Vincent?"

He waved a hand in front of James' eyes. "I do. An' mo' importan'ly, so does Jimmy here. Why don' y' take him off an' I'll catch up in a momen'?"

"Okay!" Monica grabbed her boyfriend's arm. "C'mon, James. Let's go!"

Vincent watched the two disappear off down the hall with a grin.

Several minutes he left the room himself and quickly found Sofy trying to force her feet into a pair of the most ridiculous stiletto heels he had ever seen, counting the formidable black Gucci his mother had in her closet, while Noelle argued with her.

"Sug, y' gon' fall oveh an' kill y'self in dose shoes! Why not jus' wear y' ballet flats? Dose won' kill y'!"

"I will – ouch – look better in these!"

"Da look'll be ruined bah yo' grimace o' pain."

"Where da hell'd y' even find shoes like dat? Sluts R' Us?"

Both girls jumped at Vincent's comment and Noelle was the first one to recover. "_Magnifique!_ A boy! Vincent, tell Sofy dat dose shoes are ridiculous!"

"Dose shoes're ridiculous," he repeated dutifully.

She punched him on the arm. "Lahke y' mean it, _s'il vous plait_!"

The light punch made him grin. "_D'accord, d'accord. Sofy, mignonne_, y' don' need all dat crap. Y' pretty as is. Ask _ton petit-ami_. Don' use da stilettos."

"You are not just saying that so Noelle will not hit you again?" the Russian girl asked shrewdly.

He was saved the scramble for an answer by Noelle's shocking reply. "_Non!_ 'Course he ain'! He's doin' it fo' a kiss lateh!"

The girl threw him a teasing wink and he rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Y' look fine, Sofy. Put on da ot'er shoes."

Sofy sighed. "Very well."

As she disappeared back into her room to exchange the shoes, Noelle gave him a grateful look. "_Merci_ fo' dat."

"Well… I am still y' boyfriend f' da res' o da cruise."

He savored the look of complete surprise on her face. "_Quoi?_"

"I did promise t' be _ton petit-ami_ if y' answered mah question. Y' did so I'm honor bound t' act as y' escort f' da rest o' da cruise."

"Escort? Da's still a word?"

"Yes!"

Noelle cocked her head and smirked. "Dis wouldn' happen t' be 'cause y' liked how Ah looked in mah swimsuit, would it?"

Vincent had to fight the urge to shift guiltily. That wasn't the reason at all, but he wished she had just accepted his very shallow explanation so he didn't have to confront these strange feelings that were rising up inside of him a little more each day. The outfit she had on wasn't helping much either: a silver blouse that had a shoulder strap on the right and a drooping sleeve on the left, all serving to show off her graceful shoulders and her glowing tan, low slung black pants that managed to be both sexy and modest, and her heeled boots.

Truth be told, he wanted to… he… damn it all, he wasn't sure what he wanted but they were far enough at sea that he could ignore his family's laws and traditions and do what he wanted. And if that meant flirting and being friendly with a Thief that he happened to be (slightly) attracted to (really, _really_, slightly), then he had earned a few days of being completely normal.

No Assassins.

No Thieves.

Just Vincent and his friends.

And Noelle.

Something touched his face gently and he realized he had completely spaced out on Noelle. Who happened to be touching his face very lightly with the tips of her fingers and a concerned look on her face. "Y' okay, Vincent? Ah was onleh teasin', no need t' be gettin' all serious on meh."

He shook himself. "_Desole_, Noelle, got a little sidetracked dere. Has anybodeh tol' y' dat y' got da biggest head I've ever seen?"

She laughed. "Ah seem t' recall _mon frère_ tellin' _moi_ dat a coupla tahmes."

"I bet."

"I am ready!" Sofy declared, the little ballet flats on her feet, nicely rounding off her black skirt and red shiny blouse ensemble.

"Luke'll be waitin' fo' y' at da elevators," Noelle told her.

"What about you?" the tall brunette asked her, glancing cautiously at Vincent.

"Ah have an escort." And Noelle turned a soft smile onto him, complete with dimples and those big grey-green eyes.

"Oh, so now y' use dat word."

* * *

Luke shot unhappy glances at his sister as she entered with Boudreaux. The two walked in together as easily and casually as old acquaintances, though thankfully not as a couple.

"So you have seen them?" Sofy asked from his shoulder.

"Yup."

"What are you thinking?"

"Ah t'ink mah _petite soeur_'s da craziest, mos' reckless _fille_ Ah've eveh met in mah lahfe."

"But?"

"But Ah always known she was lahke dat so dat don' come as too much o' a surprise." He sighed and ran a hand through his wiry hair. "Least dey ain' makin' out."

"Not yet."

His head snapped up and he whipped his eyes from his girlfriend to his sister and the Assassin. "_Quoi?_"

"You cannot see it? Vincent is attracted to your sister."

He relaxed. "Is dat all? Noelle's got mo' men attracted t' her den Emma Frost – an' dat's without flashin' herself t' every man on da East Coast. She ain' stupid enough t' fall f' someone she knows was sent t' kill her."

"What if she thought he no longer wanted to kill her?"

"Den we got a problem."

"Hello Bermuda!" shouted the DJ. "Are you all ready to party?"

"Oh no," James moaned, suddenly appearing from the crowd with Monica and Sarah. "Don't tell me we're stuck with a bloody grammar school DJ for the rest of the night. If we have to listen to YMCA and the Cupid Shuffle all night, I will hang myself."

"Me firs'," Luke muttered.

Monica winced. "You'll have to race me for the window if they start playing the Macarena."

"What is the Macarena?" Sofy asked.

"You don't want to know!"

"Let's get this party started!" the DJ howled, making the mic squeal hideously.

"Oh God…"

The lights dimmed and bright strobe lights swept over the dance floor. There were another few seconds of painful feedback, punctuated by extravagant cursing from the DJ, before a clear pounding beat came through the speakers. The music was thankfully not the Hokey-Pokey (_Dieu me tue_), it was a number by Rihanna.

"I love this song!" Monica squealed, grabbing James' hand and charging out onto the dance floor.

Luke chuckled and offered his arm to Sofy. "May Ah have dis dance, _mon coeur_?"

"I don't know how to dance…"

"Nobody does, we all jus' pretendin'."

Sofy timidly slid her arm through his and allowed him to lead her out in the mob.

Several songs later, which included a Black Eyed Peas number, a Lady Gaga song, and even Michael Jackson's classic "Thriller", the music was showing no sign of getting lame. Even the slower Aerosmith "I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing" wasn't too bad – though this was the kind of song where you hung onto your partner and rocked from side to side until it was over, so maybe he was a little biased. As the beat picked up again into Beyonce song, he spotted Noelle tugging a very reluctant Assassin onto the dance floor.

"Le's take a break, cherie," he had to shout over the music.

"Alright!" Sofy yelled back.

Taking a seat, the young Thief had a perfect view of his sister dancing with Vincent.

"Hey guys!"

Julia and Alexei had managed to fight their way through to get to them. While Alexei was dressed all in black, making him look like a giant out for blood, Julia had opted for a pink mini dress that managed sexy without stumbling into slutty.

"Hello you two," Sofy said loudly.

"So what do you think?" Julia shouted.

"'Bout what?"

The short girl lowered her voice fractionally. "The music! I used Noelle's computer to hack into the DJ's music data bank – don't give me that look! He had the Hokey Pokey on track 6! We'd've been dancing to third grader music all night!"

Luke released a pent off breath. "_Petite_, y' are a genius."

"Thank you. I rerouted most of my IPOD's songs into the playlist to overwrite the junk he was gonna force us to dance to. And since I've got like a million songs on it, we can dance all night."

"I do not think I can dance much more," Sofy admitted, rubbing her feet.

"That's just because you're not used to it – I saw you out there, you're an awesome dancer!"

Sofy blushed. "Noelle and Alana taught me last night."

"_Ma cherie_ is one o' da bes' on da ship."

* * *

It was past two in the morning when they finally left the dance and by this time the music was winding down and the remaining dancers were feebly bobbing up and down to the beat. Noelle, herself, was even staggering with exhaustion by the time she and Vincent made it back to their deck.

"Da was one hell o' a party," her companion said at last. "But I coulda done wit'out all da evil looks."

"Y' a mutant, sug, on a ship crawlin' wit' Friends o' Humanity. Wha'd y' expect, a parade an' flowers?"

"I ain' talkin' 'bout dose idiots. I'm talkin' 'bout da half dozen idiots dat're still followin' y' around."

Yes, she had noticed those guys too. Big, hulking guys – none allured by anything more than the desire to find out how good a mutant girl would be in bed – who leered at her ever chance they got. The longer she was exposed to them, the more the temptation to tell her brother and the guys crept up. But this was Vincent; he wouldn't care as much, she could tell him. Get it off her chest.

"Oh. Dem. Yeah, Ah try not t' notice dem. All dey wan' meh fo' is t' be able t' tell people dey slept wit' a mutant. Good t'ing Ah scared da shit outta most o' 'em when we beat dose Friends off Eddie, else one o' dem'd trah t' force da matter."

It took her a moment to notice that the Assassin had stopped walking besides her. As she turned to find him, a surge of alarm and fury arose along her spine. None of it belonged to her.

Vincent stood very still, staring at her emptily. "Y' sayin' dey trahed t'…"

Okay, she hadn't seen this coming. "_Non, non, non!_ No one trahed anyt'in'! I's jus' a feelin'!"

Feeling rather off-kilter, she held her hands out calmingly. "Sahdes, even if dey trahed somet'in' – dis is me, membeh? Noelle LeBeau? Da firs' one in six hundred years t' get Master T'ief status foh dey turn sixteen? Ah assure y' Ah be fahne. So jus' relax."

It wasn't working and she didn't want to risk trying to mess with his emotions here in the midst of a mob who would probably cheerfully see them all drown, when she was exhausted and he was getting worked up over nothing. Time for plan B.

With a smirk she had picked up from her father – the one he used when he knew he was in deep shit and didn't care – she spread her legs, cocked one hip and rested one hand on it. "Wha's da matteh, Vincent? _Tu tombes amoureux de moi_?"

He stared at her seriously. "Yes."

It took every ounce of the extensive training she had received and each drop of discipline she had ever formed to keep her face straight and to raise an eyebrow. Her heart was banging against her ribs.

He's an Assassin, she reminded herself. With a mother that's been teaching him to hate me and my family since the day he was born. A mother that, if she thought he wasn't going to do what she sent him here to do, would kill him just as quickly as she would have us killed.

This wasn't about trying to deny feelings; this was about keeping people safe. And if he and her family could be safe, she would keep quiet about the feelings growing inside of herself.

And besides, he was probably just –

He was.

He was joking.

Thank God.

Noelle giggled. He chuckled. And then the two were laughing easily, her clear, bell-like laughter mixing with his deeper laughs. When she finally managed to regain control of herself, she smiled brightly at him.

"Well, t'ank y' f' escortin' moi t' da dance."

Vincent grinned at her and gave a slight bow. "'Twas my pleasure, Mam'selle."

She reached out a hand and they shook amiably. They released.

And she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

But that was only to get him back for knocking her off balance with that 'I love you' nonsense.

That was her story, she told herself firmly as she snuggled into her bed. And that was what she was going to stick to as long as Vincent was an Assassin and still trying to keep his ties to his mother and family alive.

**AWWW! How cute!**

_**Mais oui**_** – "Of course"**

_**C'est vrai.**_** – "That's right"**

_**Magnifique!**_** – ****"Magnificent!"**

_**Mignonne **_**–"Cute one"**

_**ton petit-ami**_** – "your boyfriend"**

_**Desole**_** – "Sorry"**

_**petite soeur – **_**"little sister"**

_**fille**_** – "girl"**

_**Dieu me tue **_**– "God kill me"**

_**mon Coeur – **_**"my heart"**

_**Tu tombes amoureux de moi ?**_**– You falling in love with me?**


	47. Chapter 47

**I'm back! And better than ever - college is over!!!!! For now anyways. **

**Now, this chapter is to help soothe poor awsmninja's disappointment in the last chapter. And a special shoutout to the Wise One who has given me special insights into a very special and insane character that we all know and love.**

**Without further ado...**

Chapter 46

Vincent wiped his forehead with the back of his hand as he hiked his way through the El Yunque Rainforest in Puerto Rico. Just behind him he could hear James starting to seriously pant for breath, along with Julia and Alana. In front of him was the rest of the gang, making their way stubbornly along.

At the head of the column was Sr. Ricardo, their tiny old native tour guide, striding along as though the seventy plus year old Puerto Rican walked through these steep hills and great forests every day.

Among the mutants were a few brave souls who had decided not to let a few biological differences get in the way of their having a good time. None of Noelle's admirers were along – Vincent had seen to that, hinting to her brother that the boys were trying to pressure her into doing something she wasn't comfortable with. He was easily able to explain his eagerness to help the Thief beat the crap out of them by saying they had insulted his family.

All the two Cajuns had to do was make sure they were alone in a room when the group of perverts came in and wait.

It had taken less than three minutes for the idiots to decide that they could take on two unarmed young men (LeBeau had insisted that Vincent leave his knife back in the room, "We don' need murders on da Institute's record") and less than a minute and a half for the fully trained Thief and Assassin to take down the eight hotheads.

Noelle had been very happy at breakfast to no longer have the bastards hovering around her and even now she was keeping pace easily with Sr. Ricardo as they climbed up a pile of rocks that served as the trail to the main waterfall. Just seeing her bound forwards in her cut off jean shorts, her tank top, the jacket tied around her waist, her hiking boots, and the small backpack cinched tightly on her back made him grin.

He'd been doing that a lot lately. Grinning, smiling, laughing whenever she was around.

She was charming, he'd been telling himself firmly. Funny. Smart. Nice to be around.

It had nothing to do with the way his heart had taken to stuttering every time she smiled at him. Nothing to do with the ridiculous smugness that came over him whenever he made her laugh. And it sure as hell had nothing to do with the feeling that had taken up residence in his lower abdomen, spreading over the past few weeks through his torso and was now making steady progress into his head.

Noelle was just a good-natured, friendly person – who happened to have a body that could make a dead man sit up and take notice.

With that steadying thought, he picked up his pace and caught up to LeBeau and Sofy. "Don' s'pose y' know how much farther we've got to go?"

Sofy swiped at her sweaty black bangs. "I believe I heard Sr. Ricardo say that there was less than half a mile to go."

"Dat was ten minutes ago, _chère_," LeBeau said, huffing slightly as he stepped up the sloping trail. "We gotta be almost… here."

"Whoa!"

Whoa indeed. The place they had come to was something out of a travel brochure. They stood halfway up on a waterfall, watching the clear water cascade down into a deep, fair-sized grotto. Ivy hung over the rocks, palm trees swayed gently, vines dangled over the water…

"Wow!"

"It's beautiful!"

"Last one in's a rotten egg!"

And before Sr. Ricardo could so much as make a sound, there was a mad dash for the cool waters, absolutely no one paying attention to Charlie Summers' shouts of "Stop! What if we need to keep going?!"

Vincent paused just long enough to tear his shoes off and dump his bag on a ledge before joining his friends in leaping into the water. He ended up bumping into Vassily and reeling back and cracking his head on the side of the pool. James and LeBeau pulled him onto a rock where Monica could see to his already healing – though still aching – head.

"Vinny, mate!" his British friend said as soon as his headache faded, "Y' feelin' up t' a race?"

"Sho. _Merci_, Monica." He took the blonde's hand and bowed over it courteously before turning and diving down into the water.

Seeing the line of teens – mutant and nonmutant – lined up along the wall of the spring, those treading water in the center scrambled for the edges.

"Ready?"

"On your mark!"

"Get set…"

"GO!"

With a deep breath and a kick, the young Assassin shot through the water like a javelin through the air. His arms sliced the water and he kicked for all he was worth. It took only three deep breaths to get him across the pond and he stopped to see who else had made it.

Noelle was already there, as well as Alana, some kid with a Brooklyn accent, Charles Summers, Monica, two human girls, LeBeau and Sarah.

"Alright!" Eddie Worthington yelled from where he was acting as referee. "The first ten people stay! Everyone else, get out of the way! Let's see who's the fastest!"

Instantly, Vincent tensed along with everyone else.

"No powers!" Eddie warned. "Now this time swim to the other end and back! On your mark, get set, go!"

The water was once again filled with flailing limbs and churning water, but Vincent had been trained to swim among his cousins while they splashed and wrecked havoc in the murky waters of the bayou and obstacles like these were child's play. As he briefly surfaced to catch a quick breath of water, he caught sight of two people just in front of him, one a pace or two behind him and several others one or two strokes behind them.

He flipped through the water expertly to change his direction and made it back to other side of the grotto, heart pounding fiercely.

Sarah was already there, wringing out her dark brown hair. Noelle was flipping her bangs out of her face, a tall girl with curly black hair, and Alana.

"Damn it, Lucien! Why can't you watch where you're going?" Charles was yelling from somewhere behind him.

"Says da guy who was swimmin' wit' his eyes closed," LeBeau snapped, using one hand to swim and the other to rub his head.

"Y' alrahght, Luke?" his sister asked, ignoring the scowling Summers.

"_Oui, mais_ dat _garçon_'s got a head like a rock." The Thief heaved himself out of the water onto a rock and hunched forward to continue talking to his sister. "Y' finish first?"

"Nah, de honor wen' t' Sarah."

"Y' slippin', _petite_. Y' used t' be da fastest in da Guild."

The girl huffed and tossed her hair. "Don' even start wit' meh, Luke. We all know dat Sarah's da closest t'ing t' a mermaid da Institute's got. Ain' eveh seen anyt'in' swim fasteh den her."

He grinned. "If she's a mermaid, w'as dat make you?"

"An angel o' course, d' y' really need t' ask?"

LeBeau scoffed. "O' course."

"Okay everybody!" Eddie yelled. "The first five come to the starting line! The final three'll race each other for the title of the fastest!"

And again they were off. Vincent's lungs were burning by now, but no worse than the time his mother had put weights on his ankles and forced him to swim until he almost drowned. But he was now the best swimmer in his family, able to hold his breath for almost a minute and a half.

He was on the other side of the grotto. Flipping expertly, he kicked off from the rocks and cut through the water again, coming up every few seconds to fill his lungs with quick gasps of water. He couldn't tell if he was in first place or not.

After what seemed like an eternity, he hit the finish line and surfaced to see Sarah peering at him with interest. Just beyond her, Noelle was panting and brushing her hair out of her face – the Thief's cheeks were red with exertion and her eyes were that bright metallic color.

"Alright you guys!" Eddie called from his perch. "This is for the distinction of being the fastest on the cruise ship! We've got Vincent Boudreaux, from New Orleans, Noelle LeBeau, also from New Orleans, and Sarah Masters-Summers, from Malibu! Ladies and gentlemen, may I remind you that no powers are permitted and –"

"Bloody just get on with it already!" James yelled from he was sitting with Monica in the shallows.

"GO!"

Wait, what? Vincent thought even as he dove into the water with the two girls.

His arms and chest ached for a moment before he found his second wind (actually it was probably something more of his fourth wind of the day) and hit the water even harder and faster.

And then he was listening to cheers and whooping. He stopped in mid-stroke to see what the problem was.

Alexei had lifted Sarah into the air and was parading her around as the short girl punched the air in triumph.

He had… _lost?_ Where was Noe-

Arms snaked over his shoulders and a chin rested on his shoulder.

He jerked his head to see Noelle treading water lazily besides him, her arms around his neck and her cheek pressed to his skin.

"What're y' doin'?" The feeling was in his head – he couldn't think properly with her thick wet hair touching his ear and drifting around his back.

"_Mal chance, mon ami_," she said easily, ignoring his question and making not a single move to remove herself off of him. "Looks lahke we bot' lost."

"Why're y' on _moi_?" His skin was tingling fiercely.

"Hmmm?" She arched an eyebrow at him before settling her chin a little more comfortably into his shoulder. "Well, s'pose Ah jus' feel lahke it, 's'all."

Okay, someone seriously needed to get this fog machine out of his head so he could get a proper sentence out.

"Why?"

"Why y' askin'? D' Ah make y' uncomfortable?"

"Uh-huh." Holy shit, what had he just said? Damn this feeling, it was making his head feel oddly, and pleasantly, fuzzy.

Instantly her hands were on his shoulders and she was using his body as a springboard, pushing herself up and twisting herself to look him in the eye, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her face. "Ah'm makin' y' uncomfortable?"

He kicked harder to keep himself abreast of the water. "_Tu peux regarder à l'intérieur de ma tête, tu devrais dire moi_."

"_Je ne veux pas regarder à l'intérieur de ta tête. Je veux entendre tu dire me que tu ressentes._" By now his thoughts were a mess of desperate words and feelings that were crashing into each other like junkers at the demolition derby.

"Noelle! Vincent!" Alana shouted from the edge. "Stop flirting and come get some lunch."

"Comin'!" the girl on his shoulders called. "_Allons_, Vince."

His skin was still tingling.

It was as the two Cajuns reached the shallows and Vincent watched as Noelle stood up and tossed her mass of wet auburn hair into a ponytail. At the exact moment she turned around to tell him to hurry up.

That's when it hit him.

It was like a cannonball right between the eyes.

Oh shit.

He was in love with her.

He, Vincent Boudreaux, was in love with her, Noelle LeBeau.

Oh. Holy. Fucking. Shit.

That night was a casino/Latin dancing event.

Because apparently only people with Spanish accents could play blackjack – and as Noelle put on her golden hooped earrings, she made a vow to thoroughly fleece everyone in the card room.

Getting in would be no problem, she'd go along with one of the guys. Getting dealt in was the tricky part, not that she hadn't done it before. The trick was to stand just at the edge, watch the game and make small noises of varying degrees of amusement and disgust until someone (not a part of her group, which was extremely important) turned around and asked her what she was making those noises for.

After that, it was a simple manner of rolling her eyes over their strategies and smirking at their tactics until one of the guys slipped the dealer an extra Grant or Franklin to deal her in. Put her (their) money where her mouth was, so to speak. And that's when she would go in for the kill.

She looped her arm in Eddie's – her brother had Sofy, she wasn't about to separate Alexei and Julia, Vassily didn't want to go, Charles wouldn't go, James was taking Monica, and Vincent was nowhere to be found – and walked in.

Tonight she had opted for a dress she knew her father would cheerfully charge and destroy long before he ever let her wear it – it looked as though she had taken a black stretch of cloth, and not a very long one either, and wrapped it tightly around the more important parts of her body.

She attracted quite a bit of attention when she sauntered into the room on the tall winged man's arm. Luke looked as though he was struggling between grabbing her and forcing into something that actually covered her thighs, and beating the living hell out of every man staring at her blankly.

It took exactly ten minutes for a thirty-something to dish out the hundred bucks to bribe the poker dealer to deal her in.

And it took exactly twenty minutes before she backed out; these guys sucked and after only five deals all that was left was her brother, James, Eddie, Alexei and some loud-mouthed cowboy who didn't know a straight from a flush.

So she split her prize (a tidy sum of six hundred and forty three dollars) with a sad eyed New Jersey boy who had played very well until she had bluffed him out of his whole pot, and left.

Noelle didn't bother with the Latin dance marathon thing – she went to her room to change out of the ridiculous slut dress and back into her comfortable shorts and an old Saints jersey that she'd swiped from her brother. A quick second to slip into her flipflops and she left for the top deck.

The entire ship was filled with emotions; she could feel them fluttering around her like intangible ribbons, like scents with no smell, like music with no sound. They curled around her as she walked up stairs after stairs. Excitement, jealousy, elation, and just about every emotion under the sky were making the air vibrate and sing.

It was only when she climbed out into the wide, dark, star-studded silence of the top deck that she was able to tune all the foreign feelings out.

The night was warm, offset slightly by a light, cool wind that lifted her ponytail from her shoulders.

A sharp, male voice came "Who's dere?"

She stopped. "Vincent?"

A body rose from one of the chairs abruptly and she found herself staring at the Vincent.

"What're y' doin' here?" they asked together.

Blinking at the sound of their voices mingling, Noelle chuckled and cocked her head. "Ah'm up heah f' some peace an' quiet, y' know where Ah c'n fahnd some?"

"Not here."

"Y' sho? Seems pretty peaceful."

"It was."

She smiled and walked to an empty chair. "Maybe it'll go back t' bein' quiet."

"Doubt it." He made to leave.

"Y' don' have t' leave. Ah be quiet, _je te promise_."

The Assassin looked as though he was unsure but at last he sank back down onto his chair.

From where she sat, Noelle couldn't see him and knew he couldn't see her.

Silence fell.

Noelle could hear the music from the Latin Night pounding faintly away, as well as the water sloshing around the ship. If she really concentrated she could hear Vincent's breathing and her own heartbeat. Lying there, she listened to everything, letting her body relax.

Suddenly, she was aware of hatred, fear, and deadly intent.

Crap.

"Vincent?" she said, keeping her voice light and friendly.

"What?"

"_Je pense que nous avons invites froides_."

"_Combien?_"

She felt around, ignoring the growing alertness and tension arising from her fellow student's chair, and silently counted the incoming presences. "_Quatorze._"

"_Sept pour d'entre nos._"

"Yup. _Pas encore… pas encore…_ now."

Assassin and Thief were on their feet instantly, kicking their chairs into the guts of the approaching Friends of Humanity goons who had been trying to ambush them.

Kestrel ducked, allowing one guy to go careening over her back, then came up to deliver a crushing uppercut to one guy's chin, delivered an elbow strike to a woman's sternum, and gave solid mule kick to an enemy sneaking up behind her. She could see Vincent moving silently and efficiently through the small mob as only an Assassin could.

The two tore through the crowd and hit each other back to back.

"How y' doin'?" she asked brightly, as though they weren't fighting for their lives.

He shrugged back, boredom practically oozing from his pores. "No' too bad. Kinda bored."

"You too? Yeah, _ma famille_'s trainin' sessions were neveh dis borin'. An' Ah don' have t' tell y' 'bout Logan's trainin' sessions."

She felt him shudder. "No y' don'."

Another few minutes of fighting.

It was as Noelle was tossing some poor idiot over her shoulder that things abruptly stared going very bad. Someone crashed into her side, sending her reeling into a table and cracking her head on the deck.

Her barriers to block the emotions of everyone around her fell and she was drowning in hatred, anger, fear…

Someone was sobbing.

Someone was laughing cruelly – multiple someones.

She knew that they shouldn't be laughing. They should be scared – so scared that they would leave her alone.

Though some part of knew that what she was doing was wrong, wrong and dangerous, her anger, pain and confusion overwhelmed that knowledge and she struck out ruthlessly. Her empathy raked their minds and they dropped around her.

The young woman shredded minds filled with hatred… jealousy… lust… and… concern? Was that what this was?

Vincent.

Immediately she tried to reign in her powers, tried to release those she had caught but she couldn't.

She could feel their fear and confusion streaming into her mind and she didn't know which was hers and which was theirs and which was Vincent's.

There was just so much _noise_. She couldn't hear her heartbeat, she couldn't get up, she couldn't control her own breathing.

She was reduced to hunching over on the ground, her hands over her ears in a desperate attempt to shut out the raging feelings grating against her.

The stars were gleaming overhead and Noelle knew that if she could just touch one everything would be alright. But the air and dark emotions around her seemed to press her to the ground. She was grounded. She couldn't fly.

Oh God.

She opened her mouth to scream but she couldn't make a sound. Her thoughts raced wildly through her mind, the foremost being: _Ah don' lahke dis. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop! Why is dis happenin'? Ah gotta stop fo' Ah kill dem. Jus' lahke… Oh God… Ah cain' stop… Ah cain'…_

Something grabbed her arm and she whipped her pounding head around to see Vincent, his face completely bloodless and his forehead screwed up in agony. He was working his mouth with something that looked like desperation but not one sound was escaping.

A feeling that she had felt before – the stuff that flowed through her parents regardless of proximity, time, how loudly the two happened to be shouting at each other, or how fiercely arguing at the time – but never had she felt it directed at her. As it was, it surrounded her with a warmth that she seized like a drowning woman to an outstretched hand.

And Noelle stopped. Her powers cut out as surely and simply as if they had been cut by a pair of cosmic scissors. She keeled over and lay on the cool, faux wooden deck, her eyes closed and her body trembling.

There was blissful silence.

When she woke up, she was curled up in her bed, headache free and safe.

"Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"Are you absolutely sure, Lieutenant? You know what this could mean."

"Yes sir."

"Is he aware of this?"

"I highly doubt it. You have his report, you see what it is he believes."

"Will he give us any trouble?"

"Probably."

"What about the others?"

"I don't think so. Not enough to be of any real trouble. He's not really one of them after all."

"Excellent. Dismissed."

**Huh-oh! What could this be about??? Review please!!!**

_**Oui, mais**_** – ****"Yes, but…"**

_**Garçon**_** – "boy"**

_**Mal chance, mon ami**_** – "Bad luck, my friend"**

_**Tu peux regarder à l'intérieur de ma tête, tu devrais dire moi.**_** – "You can look inside my head, you should tell me"**

_**Je ne veux pas regarder à l'intérieur de ta tête. Je veux entendre tu dire me que tu ressentes.**_** – "I don't want to look inside your head. ****I want to hear you tell me what you're feeling" **

_**Allons**_** – ****"Let's go"**

_**Je te promise**_**– "I promise you"**

_**Je pense que nous avons invites froides**_**– "I think we have uninvited guests"**

_**Combien?**_** – "How many?"**

_**Quatorze.**_** – ****"Fourteen"**

_**Sept pour d'entre nos.**_** – "Seven for each of us"**

_**Pas encore… pas encore…**_**- "Not yet… not yet…"**


	48. Chapter 48

**I am very disappointed in you all - only a handful of reviews? You're killing me here - Really.**

**No, not really: But try and give me some feedback here, okay? Need to know how I'm doing.**

Chapter 47

Vincent leaned against the railing of the ship, a light jacket wrapped around his shoulders as a light misting rain settled in his hair and on the deck. The warm humidity of the tropics was steadily shrinking away as they sailed north after a day in Caicos Islands. In two days they would be docking in New York, meeting up with Logan and the other adults and shuttle off back to school and Danger Room sessions and calls from New Orleans.

His thoughts went from dealing with his mother to the dream he'd had last night. It had started out in the same way as always, he was the dragon covered in snakes, unable to fly away and the thick yellow python-like viper firmly around his neck. He could see the sun and gazed up longingly at the sky. The falcon had come to flutter about the lip of his pit, calling him, while the other winged creatures looked on and frantically motioned for him to join him.

That's when it had changed.

A terrible cry had arisen and the creatures that had been around him suddenly took to the sky, putting distance between themselves and whatever was approaching. It took a few minutes for him to properly see what had scared off the others, but he knew that whatever it was, it wasn't good.

Hounds, everything from bloodhounds to coonhounds, were suddenly around the hole. These were not friendly animals; there were red lights in their eyes as though they had gone mad with the hunt or perhaps gone rabid. He didn't know and frankly he didn't care – all he knew was that he was extremely glad they were up there and he was down here.

He knew they weren't after the snakes. They were after him, and, judging by the way they were slavering and snarling and snapping, their interests probably revolved around using him as a chew toy.

The snakes around him didn't seem particularly worried about his situation, they continued slithering and hissing lazily.

What loyalty.

One of the larger dogs leapt forward, jaws open and menacing, only to thrown aside by a strange winged creature that looked like something caught between a wolf and a bear.

The answer came to him so suddenly that he found himself struggling to sit up. It was a wolverine.

Suddenly the winged creatures that had called to him were suddenly around the hole, guarding it and him.

He couldn't see what was going on up there, but he knew that the hounds were being driven off by the –

But not all of them, a black hound with a nasty slash along its side had somehow jumped down to face him in the pit. He fought to get up as the hunting dog fell down to confront him.

None of the snakes seemed the slightest bit concerned as it approached.

He couldn't move. The serpents were holding him down. He was going to die because them.

And he couldn't even bring himself to try and pry them off by force. He couldn't bring himself to hurt them even now.

The hound crept forward with a wild look in its eyes...

And made a sudden scream as something suddenly fell down on top of it and, without missing a beat, sank fangs like swords onto the back of the dog's neck.

It took less than a second for the terrible sound of bone crunching and snapping to fill the air.

Now the snakes were afraid. They were spitting and retreating, sliding off of him and pressing themselves against the dirt walls of the pit. Even the yellow snake around his neck was leaving him, dropping to the ground with an impressive thump, she slithered away.

Leaving him to face the new enemy alone.

And to be completely honest, he hadn't the slightest idea what this grotesque thing was supposed to be. It kind of looked like a wolf gone wrong: black fur was mixed in which red and black scales much like his own, paws closer to those of a tiger than of a wolf, a lizard's tail, and ragged looking wings that seemed to have been ripped from a bat. The eyes were two different colors, one a deep, rich brown much like that of any other wolf and the other was a nasty yellow reptile's eye, complete with a black slit pupil.

There was a long moment of silent as he struggled to force his stiff limbs into a sitting position. The creature was eyeing him with an expression of something that seemed to be caught between interest and amusement. He tried not to stare at the piece of spinal cord that dangled from the thing's jaw.

Before anything else could happen, James had let out a particularly loud snort in his sleep and rolled over, affectively waking Vincent up and disturbing his dream.

Now here he was, trying to make himself believe that the strange nightmare – nightmare? did it really qualify as that? – had no underlying meaning. That it meant nothing – just a product of exhaustion and too rich food.

Unfortunately, he had been subjected to too many lectures on symbolism in English and he had already come to some very disturbing conclusions about the potential meanings of his dream. The snakes were his family – it had been a nasty realization that he saw his family as nothing but a pit of poisonous vipers that did nothing but hold him down and use him as a weapon – and the winged creatures were the X-Men – like that had been a big leap.

The hounds, though? And that one freakish animal that had come down into the pit with him?

He was drawing blanks.

"Tell me what the matter is, Vincent Boudreaux."

Vincent jumped and spun about to see Bridget walking towards him, her Gucci umbrella fending off the rain. "Why y' t'ink somet'in's da matter?"

She gave him her usual you-silly-idiot-you look. "I know everything."

"'Cept da why," he retorted.

"We cannot all be perfect. Besides, if I knew the reasons why people did things, all the surprises would be gone in life and a wise man once said that the day you realize there is nothing left to learn is the day you need to lay down and die."

His mouth hung open for a bit as he tried to figure out something to say to that. Nothing was coming to mind.

"You had your dream again, didn't you?"

"Yup. 'S gettin' t' be a pain in da ass."

"I find it very interesting that while your subconscious is so in tune to past and future events, you refuse to even consider that they are true. Have you forgotten that the dreams of Noelle were completely and utterly true?"

He winced and kicked at the ground. "Dat was different – dat was me rememberin' stuff. Dis… dis don' make no sense."

"Any sense. It doesn't make _any_ sense."

"What? Y' da grammar police now?"

Bridget smiled.

"So, Delphi, wha' d'y' know 'bout mah dreams?"

"They are symbolic."

"Sorta figured dat out by myself. Anyt'in' else?"

"The dragon is held down by the poison of the vipers. They tangle in his wings and ground him; they try to make him like them."

"An' why'd dey wan' do somet'in' like dat?"

"Because they see him as something useful. They manipulate him to be their weapon."

Vincent gritted his teeth. "I t'ink y' full o' shit."

"Maybe I am. Shall I continue?"

"Y' tell _moi_."

"Very good, Vincent Boudreaux. There is a reason the dragon cannot fly from the pit and touch the sky. He chooses to let the serpents use him – even when those who call him invite him to fly with them into the sun. He watches the falcon with the bronze wings and yet stays in the dirt like a common lizard."

He turned around fully to face the young woman, wrapping his fingers around the cold metal bars of the railings as he leaned back. To the casual observer, the young Assassin looked completely at ease. To anyone who knew him, Vincent was tense as hell.

"_Dis moi_, wha's dis dream tryin' t' tell _moi_?"

"It speaks of where the waters carry us. It speaks of what waits for us."

"An' da dragon's _moi_."

"Are you a dragon?"

"T'ought y' said da damn dreams were symbolic."

"In mythology, dragons range from being evil plunderers, selfish hoarders of treasure, and insatiable hunters, to being benevolent creatures, wise beyond all measure and possessing great honor and nobility."

He raised his eyebrow. "_Merveilleux_. I'm either a saint o' demon."

Bridget smiled sweetly and said nothing.

Grumbling, he threw his hands up. "_D'accord_, I'm da damn dragon! What else?"

"You will see." She turned to look out at the grey horizon. "Things are about to get very interesting. The dragon lashes out at the raptor only to be attacked in return. Good-bye Vincent, try and keep your claws and fangs retracted."

"Wha' de hell does dat mean? Hey, get back here! Bridget! Where da hell are y' goin'?"

The Swiss girl just waved at him and disappeared down into the ship. This left the Assassin alone and pissed off in the rain.

"Hey Vincent."

He wrenched out the knife settled in the holster tucked beneath his shorts and spun to face this new threat.

It was only Noelle, her auburn hair standing on end even as it dripped and gleamed from the light mist trickling down. She must have just come back from a flight.

She looked beautiful.

Heat shot into his stomach and he had to grit his teeth to keep calm; of all people, why her? Why couldn't she have left him the hell alone? Stopped being so friendly, acting like there was no war at home that demanded for them to be enemies? Why couldn't she have stopped being so… so nice… after he had promised her that he would give up trying to kill her? Why couldn't she have left well enough alone?

Then maybe he wouldn't be… be… _in love with her_.

"Cain' y' jus' walk like a normal person?"

Noelle arched an eyebrow at his tone. "Ah'm pretty sho' it would be sacrilegious t' go skippin' on da water. Dat's Jesus' t'ing."

"Get lost! Y' pissin' moi off!"

Her lips tightened, her chin came up and her eyes started to gleam metallic. That usually told him to back off but right now he couldn't care less. "_Ah'm_ pissin' _toi_ off? 'Fraid y' got dat backwards, _mon ami_."

"Stop callin' meh dat! We ain' friends! We enemies! I jus' ain' killin' y' 'cause o' da debt."

"Okay, Vincent," her voice was quiet and dangerous, like an icicle trembling right before it crashes down on your head with a crack. "We ain' got' be friends. It woulda been nahce if y'd told meh dat befoh."

There was something off about her speech, but he was too caught up in his own anger to care. "Why da hell should I've had t' tell y' dat? Yo' a T'ief! I'm an Assassin! Y' remember wha' happened da las' time two o' dose got friendly? As I recall, lotta people got dead in a hurry!"

"Assassins kill, y' idiot! T'ieves steal! Y' ain' killed an' Ah ain' stole nut'in'! Heah an' at da Institute dere ain' no T'ieves o' Assassins! Dere's jus' X-Men!"

He almost laughed out loud. "D'y' really t'ink we free o' da war jus' 'cause we out' _la ville_? Wha' kinda crap is dat? D'y' t'ink da Profeseur o' Cyclops o' Wolverine o' any o' 'em would wan' _moi _dere if dey knew what I was?"

"Wha' y' here befo' was between you an' me an' mah brother an' sister."

She wasn't speaking French. That was it. The little French colloquialisms she sprinkled healthily all over her speech were gone. All that was coming out was English – accented English – but English all the same.

"Den why didn' y' git rid o' _moi _den? Y' coulda! Nobody woulda cared!"

The look of anger had been replaced by a look of disgust. "How much longer are y' gon' be playin' dis pity game? Ah'd lahke t' know."

"I ain' an X-Man!"

Her lip curled. "Whateveh y' say."

Thoughts chased themselves around and around in his head; it was giving him a massive headache and he wanted was for it to _stop_. He didn't want to be in… you know… with someone he had been sent to kill. From the very beginning he had zeroed in on her – focused on her – wanted to kill her first. Get her out of the way first.

Why?

Why?

_Why?_

An image flashed in front of his eyes: a small girl about five or six years old, auburn bangs hanging untidily into soft grey-green eyes, and a playful smile.

Why… had she…

"Why'd y' do it? Dat day by da canals? Why'd y' pull _mon cul_ out' dere? Y' knew who I was, why didn' y' jus' let _moi_ drown?"

Her expression turned from disgust to something that was almost horror. "Ah wasn' gon' leave someone t' drown in da canals, are y' crazy?"

"But y' knew-"

"Yes, Ah knew 'xactly who y' were! Mah daddy pointed y' out t' meh when Ah was four – wha's dat got t' do wit' anyt'in'? Y' were drownin' an' Ah needed t' pull y' out."

"But I was an Assassin!"

"'Was'?" she repeated instantly, bright eyes narrowing intensely. "Y' sayin' y' ain' now?"

Damn. Had he? Yes, yes he had.

Damn.

"Don' know what I am now," he admitted, eyes on his feet.

"Yo' Vincent. Sniper. An' y' being stupid."

Vincent found himself looking into her eyes as she ducked down to catch his gaze. "Y' hearin' meh, Vincent Boudreaux?"

"Yeah…"

"Wha' was dat?"

"Yeah!"

"Who are y'?"

"Vincent Boudreaux."

"Also known as…?"

"Sniper." Somehow, saying that seemed to lift a weight of his shoulders and he smiled sheepishly.

Silence.

Noelle laughed. It was sweet and wild and made his stomach jolt deliciously. "So was dis our firs' firs' couple fahght?"

A laugh leapt from him, tilting his head back. "I guess."

"Hope da next one's mo' interestin' den dis one."

"Dere's gon' be anot'er?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Prob'ly. We kinda lahke _mes parentes_. Dey fahght all da tahme."

Oh. Um. Probably better to ignore that statement. At least she was mixing French with English again. "So, ummm… wha' do couples – fake couples – do afteh dey fight?"

A wicked grin. "Da _bête fil_ who started da fight goes an' gets da _belle femme_ some chocolate."

"_Quoi?"_

"Dove chocolate," the Lady Thief said flatly, waving his arm imperiously. "_Va t'en. Achète. Rampe. Et je pourrais te pardonner_."

Nightfall found them on the topmost deck – the clouds and rain had moved on, leaving nothing but clear, star-studded sky.

"Ah cain' b'lieve y' jus' did what Ah said," Noelle commented, taking another chocolate. "Woulda been fun if y'd tried t' argue."

Vincent flushed. "I was in da wrong… an' I am sorry…"

A lazy hand waved carelessly. "F'get 'bout it. We bot' overreacted."

"Y' bein' awfully fo'givin' today."

"I's da chocolate." She popped another chocolate into her mouth. Her mother had an addiction to these and always kept at least bag in the pantry for emergencies. There was a special way to eat these, put them into your mouth and just suck – they lasted longer that way and tasted so wonderfully sweet on her tongue. The only problem was that those sharing the bag with her – namely a certain Assassin Prince – tended to eat three or four for every one she took. "Y' know, Ah neveh woulda pegged y' fo' a chocolate loveh."

"Why? 'Cause I'm a guy?"

She shrugged. "Mo' o' less."

"Dat's not stereotypical at all."

"What c'n Ah say? I's how Ah t'ink."

"Chauvinist!"

"T'ought y' had t' be a guy t' be a chauvinist."

"Ain' feminists all women?"

"Y' believe rapin' women is rahght?"

"Wha' da hell kinda question's dat? Dose _batards_ should be strung up by dey testicles!"

"So y' against it?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Den you a feminist. Welcome t' da ranks."

"I'm honored."

"Y' should be. Chocolate?"

"_S'il vous plait."_

They continued eating in silence, before Vincent spoke again. "So… y' need someone t' take y' dat dance t'ing tomorrow? T' keep dose idiots away?"

"Den who's gon' keep you away?"

"Funny."

"_Merci."_

Sarah looked at herself in the mirror, feeling faintly horrified. She looked like a poodle. "What did those idiots do to me?"

Her roommate, Noelle, was staring at the mess in stunned silence.

Sofy tried to be kind. "It does not look so bad."

"Don' try t' be nahce, Sofy. It looks hideous."

"Thank you, Noelle. Really. That helps my situation oh-so-much." She made a note to track down Julia and Kelsey and make them suffer for this disaster of a home-perm. Her long, straight, dark brown hair had been transformed into something that could only be described as an Annie wing.

"_Du calme_… Ah t'ink Ah kin fix dis."

"How? The way this could get any worse is if all my hair were to fall out!"

"Don' be so dramatic! C'mon an' get int' y' dress – dis mahght take a whahle an' we don' wan' y' t' be late."

Not feeling the slightest bit reassured, she unhappily stepped into the dress her mother had helped her buy.

Though her mother could not give advice on matters of the heart or relationships in general – she had point blank told her daughter that she had no idea how love worked and that you simply knew it when you felt it – Laura Masters-Summers, the former HYDRA assassin X23, made it her business to help her daughter with anything she needed. And if that meant learning to shop for dresses with a teenage girl, so be it. For a month Laura, once the scourge of the assassin underworld, had traipsed through dress stores and department stores ad nauseam until they found the dress she was stepping into now.

It was knee length, spaghetti strapped, fitted neatly around her chest and hips, then flared about her knees. It was a dark brownish-gold that set off her naturally bronze skin admirably, with black lace stitched over it, while a simple ribbon-like belt showed off her slender waist. Very short black heels completed the look, as well as some strategically placed bracelets and her earrings – which she decided to hold off on until Noelle did something to her hair.

Sarah looked down at herself.

Okay, neck down: perfect.

Neck up: someone kill me please.

"Okay… I'm finished. Now what are you going to do about this?"

In the end, she was actually pretty impressed with what Noelle ended up doing. The older girl grabbed the sad poof that had once been hair, forced it and the head attached to it under the bathroom faucet. Fighting to keep from drowning, she lost track of how many bottles of – something – her friend was pouring over her head and scrubbing so viciously Sarah wondered if her hair had somehow insulted the girl.

But whatever it was, it seemed to be working and after what seemed like hours, she heard her impromptu hairdresser bark out, "Sofy, get meh towels – as many as y' can."

Sofy didn't waste any time; less than three minutes later, Sarah found herself being attacked by soft whiteness that seemed determined to smother her. Then a brush was wrenching itself through her hair brutally and she had to fight to keep from whimpering outright.

Instantly the hands working through her hair stopped. "Y' okay, hun?"

"As long as my hair looks okay I'll be fine."

The brush went back to work. "Nevah woulda pegged y' fo' da vain type, _petite_. Sofy! Get dat little brown bag on da table… yeah, dat one. Bring it here an' open it… _D'accord_, see dat curved clip? Da one dat kinda looks lahke a shark's mouth. _Le voila_. Give it t' _moi, s'il vous plait_.

Something scraped against her scalp and Sarah could feel hands fluffing her hair quickly and efficiently.

"Et… _te voila_! Y' all ready, Cinderella! Jus' don' ask fo' a pumpkin carriage o' glass slippers – Ah may have t' drown y' otherwise."

Hardly daring to look, the X girl turned and peeked at herself in the mirror. The curls had been tamed to lie strait along her scalp, where they were gathered into the strange clip Noelle had used, at which point they tumbled down her back in a very ponytail way. "You are my hero, Noelle."

"_Merci, cherie_. Gotta say dough, wish Jayden was here t' see y'. His eyes'd be poppin' outta his skull!"

Heat shot into her face at the thought of her crush admiring her in her new dress. "You think so?"

"_C'est vrai_. Too bad he's scared shitless o' y'."

Sarah hung her head. Why was that? She wasn't that frightening, was she?

"Do not worry, my friend," Sofy said kindly from where she was very carefully pulling on new strappy black shoes with one inch heels (Noelle had stolen her Gucci heels and refused to say where they were). The Russian's red dress was simple but stylish: It ended just above her knees, fit her slender body and accentuated each of her elegant curves with a sweetheart neckline and sturdy straps. Her long black hair had been clipped back with faux gold barrettes on either side of her head, allowing her golden earrings to catch the light. She was a study of gold, red, and black-blue.

And then there was Noelle, decked out in that little black dress that floated and clung by turns. Her auburn hair was loose and hung in gorgeous curls that brushed her long neck, slender shoulders, and lean back. Her ever present gold cross was around her neck and she had touched up her outfit with tasteful gold and silver bangles around her wrists.

The two together could be the cover models of an Elle magazine. Sarah felt like a tomboy dragged in and scrubbed up for a night of junior high fun besides them.

"Wha' d'y' t'ink?"

"I look like a geek compared to the two of you."

Noelle scoffed. "Don' be stupid. Y' look very pretty."

"You're lying just to make me feel better."

"Y' know perfectly well dat Ah don' do dat."

This was true.

"Then you're just being nice."

"Since when is Noelle ever nice?" Sofy asked teasingly.

"T'anks Sofy," was the sarcastic reply to this.

There was a firm knock at the door. "Hey, y'all ready in dere?"

"Lucien!" Sofy hissed, hands shooting to smooth out her already smooth hair and straighten her already straight dress.

Noelle laughed. "_Calme-toi, mon ami_! Lucien won' be able t' take his eyes offa y'!"

Vincent tugged at his tie.

"You alright, mate?" James asked, straightening his jacket.

"_Ouais, mon ami_. Jus' ain' used t' wearin' all dis crap."

They had made a pit stop in Alexei and Lucien's room – which happened to be the closest to the girls' rooms – to give themselves the once over. There wasn't a lot of space to do it either.

Alexei was fixing his brother's tie, Eddie was making the room even more crowded by spreading and shaking his great wings, and Charles Summers was pacing and checking his watch every other second. At least Lucien had already left to meet Sofy; Vincent didn't think this room could handle another person inside.

But somehow the laws of physics caved when Bob Drake managed to sidle inside to announce that it was now time for them to get their asses in gear to meet the girls.

Julia giggled and bounced, adorable in a scoop necked purple dress that had Alexei speechless.

Alana was decked out in slick, black, knee length cocktail dress. Charlie was choking on his tongue.

Monica wore a sexy silver and gold dress, her hair drawn up just enough to show off her neck but stick brush her back. James was drooling.

Kelsey was in a loud orange prom dress that had passersby gaping.

Bridget looked like a goddess in her simple, elegant white dress and her Grecian updo.

Even Sarah had cleaned up well; her brown and black dress complementing her tan perfectly.

Each one of them was enough to give a man wet dreams but they weren't what he was looking for – weren't _who_ he was looking for.

She's a friend, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. A friend with a brother who'd blast me to pieces if I tried anything. A friend with enough bodyguards to make my family look like a bunch of wusses. A friend he happened to think was beautiful.

A friend he happened to be in love…

Oh.

Oh.

Damn.

Brain… malfunctioning…

Blood rerouting…

Lucien was back. And he wasn't alone.

On one arm was Sofy: tall, lovely, and swanlike.

On the other arm was…

Just…

_Sacre_…

She was in that black dress, the same one she had tortured Denzel with. Now she was using it to torture him.

Funny how that worked.

The dress was gorgeous.

She was gorgeous.

He was screwed.

Apparently there was still enough blood left for his brain. His legs (guess there was enough blood for them, too) walked with surprising steadiness over to her and offered his hand. "_Bonjour_, Noelle."

She put her hand in his, allowing him to draw her away from her brother (who looked like he was ready to murder him).

His brain was gibbering incoherently and yet he still knew exactly what to say – he wondered vaguely how that could happen. How could your brain be slush and yet still be able to direct the verbal sparring that was going on now.

"Well… 'Least y' don' look like crap."

Noelle arched an eyebrow at him as her eyes swept over him critically – the back of his neck heated up – "Ah could say da same t'ing t' y'. Y' look good on mah arm."

Vincent scoffed even as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "T'ink y' got dat backwards."

"Uh-huh… Sho…"

"Will y'all stop flirtin' so we kin get goin'?"

_**AAAAAAAWWWW! Aren't they cute? REVIEW please! I am not above holding chapters hostage if you don't!**_

_**Dis moi**_** – "Tell me"**

_**mon cul**_** – "my ass"**

_**bête fil **_**– "stupid boy"**

_**belle femme**_** – "beautiful woman"**

_**Va-t'en. Achète. Rampe. Et je pourrais te pardonner.**_** – "Go. Buy. ****Grovel. And I may forgive you."**

_**Du calme**_**– "Relax"**

_**Le voila**_** – "There it is"**

_**C'est vrai**_** – "It's true"**

_**Sacre**_** – "Holy (fill in the blank)"**

**Here are the girls' dresses: Just get rid of the spaces, replace all ('s with /'s and /'s with .'s **

**Alana's dress - ****http: (( www/ edressme/ com ( faviana-cocktail-49/ html**

**Bridget's dress – http: (( www/ magicmomentsprom/ com (item ( Interlude 8697 Short Cocktail Dress (20367 (p15**

**Julia's dress – ****http: (( www/ magicmomentsprom/ com (item (Jovani 152266 Dress ( 44097 (p21**

**Kelsey's dress – http: (( www /magicmomentsprom/ com (****item (Mori_Lee_9069_Short_Prom_Dress (43749 (p19**

**Monica's dress – ****http: (( www /magicmomentsprom / com (item ( Interlude 8054 Short Cocktail Dress ( 20337 ( p15**

**Noelle's dress – http: (( www/ promgirl**** /com (shop ( dresses (viewitem-PD490837**

**Sarah's dress – http: (( www**** / gownsbysimpleelegance / com (gowns (16-Alyce5184-BlackBrown /html**

**Sofya's dress – http: ((www**** / edressme /com (faviana-cocktail-52 /html**


	49. Chapter 49

**Aaaaaaahhh! Summer sunshine...**

**It does feel good.**

**Anyways, the next chapter!**

**Oh, and I'm not sure whether to end this story on an epilogue or leave it open for a sequel. Any thoughts?**

Chapter 48

Noelle felt good. She had spent the whole morning flying alongside the ship and then several hours soaking in the hot tub with the other girls.

Her dress fit perfectly and she looked damn good in it. She had managed to tame the Annie wig monstrosity Julie and Kelsey had given poor Sarah and had successfully stolen Sofy's ridiculous black heels (Kelsey was going to find blue hair dye in her shampoo for convincing the girl to buy those deathtraps).

And now she was on the arm of Vincent Boudreaux, something that was making her warm and… yeah… best not to think on that.

Their entrance to the dance could have been in some cheesy fairytale movie: the boys holding hands or linking their arms with their girlfriends – most of whom were beaming sappily up at their dates. There was the classic dead silence as they entered – the normal human girls staring longingly at the young X-men boys, and the normal human boys gaping at the legs and cleavages of the X-men girls – and took their seats with Iceman and Jubilee.

Bobby whistled. "Look at you guys, you're making me feel underdressed!"

His wife swatted him playfully. "You look sexy and you know it!"

The two kissed and their charges made a great show of gagging and rolling their eyes even as they took their seats.

Vincent and Lucien caused quite a stir and earned a healthy amount of deep sighs from the watching girls as they pulled out Sofy and Noelle's chairs before taking their own seats. Seeing this caused the other boys to scramble to help their dates get seated.

"Well, well, well…" hissed a tall, bloated man dressed in an ill-fitting, cheap suit. "If it isn't the mutants."

"It is," Jubilee said coldly, rising from her chair.

Somehow, the idiot with his ugly brown suit and sweaty armpits didn't impress nearly as much as much as the teacher with her gorgeous kimono and graceful updo, even with the four inch difference.

Obviously, the man realized that he was going to be unable to intimidate them, so he smirked and added a strong condescendence to his voice.

"Are you sure you all should be here? Aren't you worried for your students' safety?"

Noelle spoke up. "Beggin' y' pardon, _Monsieur_, but Ah t'ink we proved we kin take care o' ourselves."

The squinty, pig-like eyes narrowed and she could see his hand twitch up towards his slowly healing, broken nose. God, did she do beautiful work.

"Well, sweetie," he said as though speaking to a brain dead three year old. "Don't you think that was a tad excessive? Wouldn't want lawyers involved, would we?"

"_Non_, fo' y' sake we wouldn' wan' dat. Sweetie."

"What did you say, you frea-"

"D' y' really wan' t' finish dat sentence?" Noelle asked, her elbows on the table, fingers laced together and her chin perched on her hands. Beside her she could feel Vincent stiffening, anger rising dangerously, Lucien had let go of Sofy's hand and was getting his legs under him, Alexei was settling his hands onto his chair, readying himself to throw it, and James was eyeing the rude idiot like a dragon debating whether to set a troublesome knight on fire or not.

"Are you threatening to set your boys on me, girl?"

She smiled, and she knew it was the smile her father got right before he snapped your head off, but her eyes were the Death Glare she had inherited from her mother. Lucien had told her that those two mixed together made her look scarier than Tante Mattie, scarier than Wolverine, scarier than Talon. Scarier than their mother.

"D'y' really t'ink Ah need dem t' knock y' an' yo' boys on y' asses?"

The man backed off fast. Noelle followed his movements – a tiger watching an overly arrogant chicken hustle back to its henhouse – as he retreated to his table.

"Y' scary as hell when y' get dat way," Vincent said conversationally. "Did y' know dat? Scarier den _ma mère_ – an' y' know how pleasant she kin be."

She laughed. Her date smiled.

"You really shouldn't have done that, Noelle," Jubilee said unenthusiastically even as she moved to sit down.

"D'y' realleh b'lieve dat?"

"No."

"Good evening everyone!" the Captain – what was his name again? – said. He was decked out in full white captain regalia, gold braids, and medals. "I ask that you all now take your seats so we may begin the final night of the cruise. Tonight the chefs have prepared a special meal before the dancing begins."

The guests hurried to take their seats, fine suits shining, jewelry sparkling on the ears, wrists and necks of women, dresses sparkling… It was like being caught in a multicolored disco ball. Though with a bit more fashion sense and lot less disco.

As soon as the last well dressed behind hit a seat, the Captain waved a dramatic hand and doors sprang open to reveal a small battalion of white smocked servers, each pushing a cart or table of some kind. Some had buckets filled with ice and bottles of wine, juice, sparkling water, cider, vodka, even tiny, delicate white boxes of milk. Others had covered bowls and tureens from which escaped scents that made her mouth water, as well as baskets filled with soft, golden-brown bread that was still steaming, and basins filled with tossed salad.

"May I present your servers for the night? They are bringing in a choice of soups and salads for your choosing, as well as a wide variety of beverages. Please enjoy!"

Their specimen of a waiter was a very handsome creature with bronze skin, soulful black eyes, and a face worthy of movie star. She could feel her fellow females staring longingly and the boys glare dangerously as they were served their drinks, soups, salad, and bread. By the time he left their table, poor Christian looked fiercely uncomfortable.

"Jeez, you guys!" Julia said sourly, stabbing her arugula salad. "What is your problem?"

"You did not have to…" Alexei motioned harshly with his soup spoon.

Noelle traded smirks with Vincent and Lucien before taking another sip of her soup.

"Y' t'ink y'all'd know better den t' openly stare at da waiters when y' on a date. Dis ain' girls' nahght out, afteh all."

"Oh come on!" Kelsey scoffed, leaning back a bit in her chair to maintain her view of Christian's behind in tight black pants. "MMMMMM! Going and coming, it's still good."

"Why am I even here?" Eddie demanded, stabbing his salad with incredible venom.

"I've got a good shot," James growled, fingers twitching.

"Set him on fire and it's the last thing you'll ever do!" Monica hissed.

Christian did not return.

Their new server was an equally handsome man, pushing a cart filled with refills of their drinks.

"Hiya folks, Christian's been called away on another assignment so I'll be your server for the rest of the night! My name's Kyle!"

Kyle bent over and spoke into Noelle's ear. "I love your shoes… totally fabulous! And your date is positively luscious!"

"_Merci_, sugah. Good t' know Ah got such good taste."

There was a rather disappointed sigh around the table from the girls, and a rather uneasy shuffling from the boys as their waiter very cheerfully gave them their drinks and then rattled off a list of possible entrees.

Once 'luscious' Kyle was safely back in the kitchen until the entrees, the conversations began.

Noelle chatted with Sofy and Julia about the upcoming AP exams.

"I am so nervous," Sofy admitted, cutting up a bit of lettuce. "What is an exam like?"

Julia stabbed a bit of angel hair pasta in her soup. "Horrible."

"Hours o' torture," Noelle added grimly.

The Russian girl trembled.

"I's dat bad?" Vincent interrupted, looking alarmed. "James keeps tellin' _moi _dat I gon' die right afteh but I didn' b'lieve him."

"B'lieve it, Vince," she assured him. "How many y' takin'?"

He set down his utensil and paused for a moment. "Lessee… takin'… AP Chem –"

"Y' gon' die."

"AP Stats…"

"Slowly."

"An' AP US History."

"Wit' an axe in y' head."

"An' AP English."

Horror now fully coursing through her veins, the Thief delicately set down her spoon, pushed away her bowl of soup, and stared in shock at her date. "Correct _moi_ if Ah'm wrong, _cher_."

"_D'accord."_

"Dis y' firs' year ever t' attend school."

"_Oui."_

"Dis yo' firs' tahme eveh havin' t' take classes o' any kahnd."

"_Oui."_

"An' y' takin' four AP classes y' firs' tahme?"

"_Oui."_

By this time Noelle was not the only person staring at him in utter shock, now Julia, Alexei, Sofy, Lucien, and James were gaping.

"How da hell y' keepin' up wit' all dat crap?" Luke demanded.

Vincent shrugged. "Jus' good at it – 'Cept fo' chem. Ain' got a clue what he's talkin' 'bout."

"Who have you got?" James asked.

"Curry."

A collective shudder went around the table. "Bad luck my friend," Alexei said sympathetically.

"Curry's gotta be da worse teacher in da whole school."

"Da's rahght, y' had him las' year, didn'cha _mon frère_." She could remember her brother frantically attempting to reason out chemical equations and how it was that two hydrogens plus one oxygen made something vital while one less hydrogen made that something poisonous.

Luke shook his head. "Ah remember Ah had t' get all kinds o' tutorin' from Hank t' even get a t'ree on dat exam – hard as hell."

"Hank? Dr. McCoy?"

"Yeah, mate, didn't you know the good doctor used to be the chem teacher at Bayville High?"

"_C'est faux!"_

"I's true! He used to be a teacher at de high school 'fore he grew fur and became Beast."

"He a good teacher?"

Luke shrugged. "Hell o' lot betteh dan dat idiot Curry."

"A bloody monkey could teach better than Curry," James scoffed.

"What da hell're y' doin'?" Vincent suddenly said.

Noelle didn't even pause as she spooned some of his soup up and into her mouth. "Takin' some o' y' soup. MMMMM… dis is good!"

He scowled at her, then leaned forward and took a bit of her soup.

As soon as he put the spoon in his mouth, the look of anger was replaced with sheer delight. "_C'est delicioux!_ Wha' is dis?"

"Ummm… dey called it wild mushroom an' parmesan risotto. Wha' 'bout yo's?"

"Mussels, bacon an' gorgonzola cream… t'ink I tasted some bourbon in dis too."

His eyebrow twitched in annoyance as she took another mouthful of his dish. "Hmmmm… Yeah, Ah kin taste dat too… Wonder what kind dey used."

"Anybody ever tell y' i's rude t' take ot'er people's food?"

"Da's only if dey ain' y' date –"

"_Quoi?"_ interrupted Luke, abruptly leaning forward.

Ah, there it was, the infamous LeBeau over protectiveness – better nip this in the bud. Wouldn't want him scaring off another good looking guy… though she rather appreciated the sentiments after the whole Denzel disaster. But seriously, she was a fully trained Master Lady Thief and a full-fledged X-Men; she could damn well take care of herself.

With that thought in mind, the young woman leaned forward, caught her brother's eye and smiled dangerously. "Vincent is mah date fo' tonahght."

Her brother's dark brown eyes narrowed and he stared at her so fiercely that it would have made anyone else extremely uncomfortable, but she knew he was only trying to figure out what she was thinking.

To this she raised an eyebrow and Luke's own brows made a break for his hairline and his mouth fell open slightly.

"Got a problem wit' dat?"

He didn't answer, merely shook his head much in the same way that he always did, with the same look he always got, when she did something he fiercely opposed and disapproved of – especially when it was a stunt he hadn't seen coming.

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Vincent felt the side of his head begin to smoke as Lucien directed a Glare of Doom (which differs oh-so-subtly from a Death Glare) at him. Instead, he focused on eating the last of his soup and stealing sips from Noelle's bowl.

Just because he was a highly trained Assassin didn't mean he wanted to tangle with a pissed off big brother. Wasn't one family feud that ended with someone dead enough for one century? How many could two families have?

Of course, they were Cajun so anything could happen.

But anyway…

"Wha're y' gettin' as y' entre?"

"_Pourquoi?_" he asked, only half joking. "Y' wan' get somet'in' differen' so y' c'n pick off mah plate?"

"Was dere any doubt in yo' mahnd?"

He smiled. "No' really."

Noelle laughed – the delicious sound made his stomach erupt into champagne bubbles (a very pleasant but extremely unmasculine feeling) – and looked at him expectantly.

So he really had no choice but to say, though he made sure he loaded each word he said with as much reluctance and sourness as he could fit into it. "Salmon stuffed wit' crab, red peppers –"

"Bell peppers?"

"Dere any doubt?"

"Obviously if Ah'm askin'."

"Touchy!"

"Nah, jus' impatien'. Wha' else?"

"Spinach an' rice pilaf."

She closed her eyes with an expression of bliss on her face.

"Tastin' it already?"

"Almost."

"Dat mean I don' gotta give y' a taste?"

She jabbed him with her elbow. "Ah said almost."

"What're y' gettin'? Jus' so I know wha' t' look fo'ward to."

"Da lamb, wit' rosti pommes de terre, an' ratatouille."

"Da's actually a real dish?"

The look he received made him grin.

"Yeah, hun, dat's a real dish."

The dinner platters came and as she took pieces of salmon off his plate as though she was entitled to them he found himself retaliating by stealing bits of her lamb.

Her food and his was all pretty damn good.

And that ratatouille… there were just no words… he wondered if anyone at the Institute knew how to make it.

And then the final wave of waiters brought out serving carts and trays with mounds of fruits, heaps of steaming bread, well sliced cheese.

Vincent ignored the healthy crap, demanding fattening, artery-clogging, chocolatey goodness. He debated endlessly over getting something that had the intriguing name of Chocolate Armageddon and Bonta Brownie Trio Sundae and didn't stop until Noelle choked him with an apple slice and ordered the sundae for herself and the Armageddon for him.

"Nevah met a boy so hung up on chocolate in all mah lahfe," she commented later as the lights began to dim for the dancing portion of the evening.

"Blame it on ma mere, she was always eatin' it," he said around a mouthful of chocolate syrup.

"Least she taught y' somet'in' rahght."

A haze of fury made his vision go unnaturally sharp and his body tense, his training demanding for him to strike down this Thief who had dared to insult his Guildmistress, before another, softer wave of annoyance and curiosity made his shoulders relax, reminding him who this was. This wasn't any Thief… this was Noelle – his friend… who he was kinda… sorta… a little… in love with. "An' wha' was dat?"

She didn't answer him, merely looked at him with abject confusion in every line of her face.

"_Quoi?_" He leaned a bit forwards, trying to get a better look at her expression. "Noelle? _Ca va?"_

It took a long moment for her to speak, at which point she cocked her head and smiled a bit. "We gotta teach y' how t' make empathic shields. All dose crazy emotions o' yo's give moi a hell o' a headache."

Ah shit… had she felt that… feeling – yeah, that's right, feeling – inside him?

"Y' c'n make shields 'gainst empathy?"

Noelle shrugged as she moved to stand up. "In t'eory yes."

"How's somebody do dat?"

He quickly got to his feet and offered her his arm to walk her out onto the dance floor. The floor was polished wood – faux wood, but still – and the sort used for ballroom dancing.

"If everyone will please make their way to the dance floor!" called a short, very neat looking man with a trim mustache and immaculately white dinner jacket. "For tonight's first waltz."

"Did he just say waltz?" Julia half whispered half shrieked. "We need to know how to waltz?"

"You learned how to waltz during Senor Antonio's lessons," Monica whispered from where she and James where turning to face each other. "Remember? That slow dance you said made you fall asleep because it was so boring?"

Julia blinked. "That's the waltz? Wow, that is easy!"

Noelle smirked even as she took his hand in hers and set her other hand onto his shoulder. "Classic Yankee. Y' know how t' dance, _oui_?"

"Course, you?"

"_Mais oui."_

Vincent tried to breathe around the sweet perfume of her hair and skin but it was fogging up his brain and he was having a very hard time concentrating. It took a ridiculous amount of thought to close his fingers around her slender ones, place his hand on her waist and pull her close.

The burning feeling on the back of his neck made him intensely aware of Lucien glaring at him. _Damn it! I am a Prince o' Assassins! I should be able t' get t'rough a dance wit'out my date's _frère _hasslin' _moi _all night!_

"Shall we?" he asked with all the suaveness he possessed.

Following his eyes, Noelle grinned that evil smile of hers and tightened her grip on his biceps, moving herself closer. "We makin' Luke mad?"

"Y' got a better idea?" he asked as the music started.

The song was long, slow and required moves he hadn't used in months. But at least he didn't have to worry about heels stepping on his toes; he was somehow unsurprised to find that Noelle was not only a great dancer in a club, but she was also one hell of a ballroom dancer.

"How d'y' know so much 'bout dancin'?"

"Y' mean ballroom dancin'?"

"Non, break dancin' – ow!"

She had just spiked him with her black and silver heels. "Don' be a smartass. Fo' yo' info'mation, every T'ief – 'specially da girls – learns how t' dance. I's a requirement."

He spun her gently and brought her back to his chest. "Why's dat?"

Noelle bit her lip, apparently considering her answer. "Well… da logic is dat _filles_ have an easier tahme getting' inta da higher circles o' societies if dey pretty dan boys. Old men wantin' good lookin' dates dat look young enough t' be dey gran'children an' all dat."

Oh-kay, he didn't like where this was going.

"So da idea is dat a Lady T'ief c'n sneak inta dese big society parties, seduce da richest lookin' one dere, take him back t' his room an' make it out wit' his wallet an' anyt'in' else he got on 'im."

Vincent stopped so suddenly that she stumbled and two other couples blundered into them.

"Sorry," he tossed over his shoulder before turning to his less than happy partner. "Dey was pimpin' y' out?"

The young woman gaped at him. "_Quoi? _'Course not! Now move y' ass – we blockin' da ot'er dancers!"

Moving quickly, he began to get back into the swing of the dance, turning them on the spot. "So wha' would y' call it if it ain' pimpin'?"

"Ain' y' eveh heard o' roofies?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, y' slip a time delayed roofie inta dey drink, get 'em alone, let 'em flirt, maybe kiss y' – some girls let 'em grope 'em, but dat wasn' f' _moi_ – an' den buy tahme 'til dey pass out."

"So y' don' – y' never…"

The eye roll he received was truly a work of art. "Maybe y' ain' picked dis up, Vincent, but Ah'm a lady, not a whore."

Ah. Shit. Shit. _Shit!_ "Dat wasn' what Ah meant – what Ah meant was –"

The music ended and he scrambled to bow deeply to her and remove his foot from his mouth. His babbles were utterly halted by delicate, slender fingers against his lips.

"Shush! Ah know wha' y' meant. No worries. Le's go sit down."

Vincent smirked. "Got a better idea."

They ended up standing at one of the bay windows. Noelle snagged a pair of wine glasses off a passing waiter's tray, tasted each carefully with the tip of a finger, nodded in satisfaction and gave one to him. "Here, da drinks ain' been spiked yet."

Not quite appeased, he eyed the vague, yellowish liquid suspiciously. "What is dis?"

"Iced tea, Prudence. Now drink."

"_Oui, mam'selle."_

There was a long moment of silence.

"Why _did_ y' pull my ass outta dat canal?"

"Straight into it, huh?"

He shrugged.

She averted her gaze and stared out to ocean. "Y' looked scared. Y' needed help. So Ah did wha' Ah had t' do."

"Dat ain' a good reason."

"Seemed rahght at da tahme. Still does."

"Good t' know a T'ief values my life."

"Considerin' who dat T'ief is, y' should be."

He offered her a courtly bow.

She smiled at him and his stomach dissolved into bubbles that were very much incapable of adding this iced tea to the elegant gourmet meal he was already digesting.

"Care t' dance?"

The young woman looked up at him through her bangs with what (if he didn't know better) looked almost like shyness. "Sho'."

As the music increased in tempo in a Rihanna number and the older dancers retreated from the floor to make way for the younger and more vibrant and daring party guests, Vincent put his hands on his date's svelte hips and grinned.

The way she swayed, tossed her hair, and snapped her hips made him more than a little lightheaded and he was having alarming trouble swallowing.

Vincent found himself momentarily disappointed as the fast song came to an end, only to hear a much slower song come floating through the air. Noelle wrapped her arms around his neck.

"'Bout da ot'er nahght," she said.

"What about it?"

"Sorry, didn' mean t' loose mah head da way Ah did."

"Don' worry about it." Of course, she could have just admitted to tossing all his luggage overboard, but with her so close and smelling like she did, he couldn't get out much more. Get control of your hormones, Boudreaux! "Gotta say t'ough, wouldn' o' t'ought y'd get so worked up 'bout it."

"Mah powers're dangerous. Ah learned dat when Ah was eight."

"Wha' happened when y' turned eight?"

"Ah tell y' later."

"If y' say so."

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_Shing_

_Shing_

_Shing_

"Mr. Wilson?"

_Shing._

"Yeah?"

_Shing_

"What are you doing?"

_Shing_

"Sharpening up Stephanie and Courtney. Gotta have 'em looking their best."

_Shing Shing_

"I see. May I ask why a skilled mercenary such as yourself does not use something more… modern? Like a gun?"

_Shing_

"A what?"

_Shing_

"A gun, Mr. Wilson. The instruments you have at your belt."

Pause.

_Shing_

"My doorknobs?"

_Shing_

"I beg your pardon?"

"My doorknobs. These, see?"

_Ch-chik_

"I see them, Mr. Wilson. Now kindly put your… doorknob away. That could kill someone."

"Doorknobs don't kill people. I kill people."

"That's very reassuring."

**Deadpool, how we love you and your insanities.**

**Well... next week they're back on dry land and back to reality.**

**REVIEW!**

"_**C'est faux!"**_** – "It's not true!" or more colloquially: "No way!"**

_**Ca va? **_**– "Are you okay?"**

"_**Mais oui."**_** – "Of course."**

_**Filles**_** – "Girls"**


	50. Chapter 50

**First of all, I want to sincerely apologize for the lateness of this chapter - my BETA has gone into hiding and so I'm posting a late and un-BETAed chapter. **

**Second of all, I am going on vacation for the next two weeks and I won't be updating for a while - and after you read this chapter you all will hate my guts. But absence makes the heart grow fonder so I'm sure you all will get over it.**

**Now - ahem - enjoy!**

Chapter 49

Noelle was not the only one to groan out load at the first sight of the blob that was Lady Liberty.

It wasn't that she didn't love that stern, fierce green woman, but still… leaving the gorgeous, balmy weather of the Caribbean to return to the daily hassle of school, Danger Room sessions, and scholarship applications in chilly weather? Not fun.

"I can't believe it's over," whispered Alana.

"Neither can I," Julia agreed, leaning on the ship railing.

As they got closer and New York came into focus, the other students joined the girls on the topmost deck, watching as home came closer.

They docked in the afternoon; good thing, too, or else no one would have been awake for it. Even at past noon, they had still been straggling into the dining room, hair mussed and eyelids heavy with sleep. Now they watched as responsibility sped closer.

Logan, Ororo, Bishop, and Scott and Alex Summers were waiting for them with several empty vehicles.

Spirits sank even more as they loaded their luggage, much heavier than when they had left of course. By the time they were on the highway, the atmosphere was depressed. Getting off on the exit to the Institute, the returning vacationers were downright morose.

"Home sweet home."

There were chores to be done. Rooms had to be cleaned, homework neglected for a week had to be done, and suitcases had to be unpacked.

"We shoulda stayed in Puerto Rico," Sarah mumbled as they pulled through the gates.

"Ah, c'mon, munchkin," her father said cheerfully. "If you're in Puerto Rico, that means I have to spar with your mom every – single – day." He shuddered.

"You didn't have to ask her to marry you," grumbled Vassily from where he was squished into the backseat.

"Well, actually, she asked me. We'd been dating for a while and she just came into our room, gave me a ring and said that she was asking me to marry her. How can you argue with that?"

You really couldn't, Noelle decided privately. But then, her parents had a rather… interesting, forceful, and, at times, painful history, so she really had no room to talk. How had her father proposed? Ah, yes, that day… how long had her father been in the hospital after that? She couldn't remember… something like three days – her father hated hospitals.

They came to a stop right in front of the Institute and climbed out. The huge oak front doors burst open to reveal a mob of small familiar faces that had darkened or reddened since the last time she had seen them.

"NOELLE'S BACK!"

She laughed and knelt to allow them to knock her back onto her behind. "_Bonjour, mes chéries_. Ah missed y'all."

"We missed you too!"

"I missed you the most!"

"No way!"

"I did!"

"No, I did!"

It took a while for Noelle to redirect their enthusiasm to helping unload the car, but once they had calmed down, all of the bags were safely delivered to their owners' rooms in record time.

As for her and Sarah's room, it was stuffy and the air inside felt stale. The moment she stepped foot into the room, she hurried to the window and heaved it open. The plants were a little droopy, but it was nothing a little TLC wouldn't cure.

Without bothering to unpack she threw herself on her bed and let the sea breeze from her window sweep over her. It didn't take long for someone to find her.

"Did y' bring _moi_ anyt'in'?"

"Hello t' y' too, Claire."

Ah, good to be back.

Vincent turned the obsidian knife over in his hand; he had seen it in a shop on one of the islands they had visited and hadn't been able to resist. So what if it had been hideously expensive? He hadn't bought much else, unlike James who was pulling out trinket after trinket to give to his ecstatic younger sisters.

Sinking down to sit on his bed, the young Assassin watched the way the black stone blade of his knife gleamed white, then blue, then purple in the light.

He'd had the same dream again. Trapped at the bottom of the pit, practically drowning in snakes while his fellow winged creatures did their best to protect him, only to have their ranks broken by that one dog that leapt down into the hole to attack him. Then having that creepy dog-lizard-thing come down and… had it really rescued him?

Tonight though, there had been something new… what looked like a bunch of leeches? Thick black slimy things that attached themselves to every other flying creature and even some of the hounds. Even to him.

The feeling of the _things_ had been disgusting and horrifying enough to wake him up.

What did it all mean?

He was pretty sure about the dragon, the winged animals, and the snakes, but what about the rest of them? What could they possibly represent? And what – if Bridget was right – did it all mean?

Hm.

Let's see…

He didn't have a clue.

Damn – maybe he should just stop eating before bed.

A sudden outburst of talking erupted from the hallway.

"Wha's goin' on?"

"Dunno, mate."

Lucien LeBeau stuck his head into their room. "Y'all gon' wan' see dis."

The roommates exchanged glances.

"I'm intrigued, aren't you?"

"Hurry up, Jim, we gon' miss it."

They ran out of the room and crowded around the upstairs bay window. Rather unfortunately, they were the last ones there and it was almost impossible to see anything besides the back of someone's head.

Being the taller of the two, Vincent did his best to edge around Alexei and catch a glimpse of what was going on.

"What da –"

_Attention all students! Will the older students calmly gather the younger students and send them to the shelters; then may I ask that all instated X-Men meet at the front of the Institute._

"Something is not right," Alexei intoned grimly.

"Wha' was y' firs' clue?" Vincent asked sarcastically, staring at the black vehicles coming through the gates.

In less than five minutes, they stood outside on the front steps of the Institute watching what was coming.

A battalion of black SUVs and military jeeps entered the grounds like a swarm of black beetles. The dull _thwock-thwock_ of helicopter blades filled the air as a flock of choppers came swooping down to land on the lawn. The noise mingled with the snarling of the vehicles, causing a deep rumble not unlike that of the growl of…

Hounds.

_Dieu…_

Wolverine let out a sound worthy of his namesake. "Fury."

The lead jeep pulled right up to them and a tall, bald, black man with an eye patch stepped out. He was dressed in combat fatigues and was about in his late fifties.

Vincent thought he looked like that guy who had played Mace Windu in Star Wars. He also didn't think he was there to sell lightsabers.

"Good afternoon, General Fury," Professor Xavier said courteously, though Vincent was sure he could detect an edge of steel under the politeness. "What can we do for you?"

"Professor. Wolverine. X23," the man said curtly, nodding to Xavier as well as the stony faced mutants who stood on either side of him like bodyguards.

"It's Laura now."

"That's nice. Professor Xavier, I'm here as a matter of national –"

"Security," Logan interrupted. "We know the spiel, Patch, so just tell us why you're here."

"That freak Deadpool broke into our facility –"

"And you let that bastard Trask send Sentinels after our kids."

Cyclops jumped in. "And then you had the nerve to demand DNA samples from all of us."

"That's what I happen to be here about, actually," the man said coldly, sticking a toothpick into his mouth.

"You're not getting anything from us!" declared Alana Wagner.

"Already got what I needed from you, sweetheart."

"What exactly are you saying, General Fury?"

"I'm saying we've already got your students' DNA. Isn't that right, Lieutenant Bishop?"

There was a dead silence as everyone's head whirled around to stare at the muscular black man who had been their teacher for over four months. Tessa – AKA Sage – backed away from him, her usually impassive face blank with shock.

"Sorry, Professor," he muttered, having the decency to look shame faced. "My orders were to get the DNA of your students and –"

"And so you followed orders," Sage interrupted him. "You… seduced me."

"Tess, no, it had nothing to do with us."

"Get out. Take your things and get out. You used us all. And you… you…"

Vincent had never seen the calm, unflappable Sage look like this, her usual calm was fracturing and Jubilee was trying to put her arm around the injured party's shoulders to no avail.

"You just… I'm pregnant."

Now it was Bishop that looked stunned. "We're preg-"

"No. I am pregnant. You merely donated sperm. Get out."

"But…" the disgraced took a step forward only to be grabbed by Alexei and bodily hurled through the air to land with a crunch on top of one of the jeeps.

"Anyway," Fury continued calmly. "While we were entering the DNA into our databanks, we found something very interesting."

"Maybe a violation of constitutional rights?" snarled Julia.

Fury's one eye was darting around the mass of students, apparently looking for someone. "It turns out that one of your students… well, let's ask him. Vincent Boudreaux?"

He was officially confused. James shot him a glance which he returned with a bewildered shrug.

"I am afraid Vincent is not available for questioning," Xavier said flatly.

"I'm afraid that's not up to you. Now kindly tell him to step forward or I'll take him and arrest the rest of you for obstruction."

Wolverine scoffed and scratched the underside of his own chin with a single, gleaming claw. "You shouldn't make threats ya can't deliver on, Patch. Now what do you want Knife for anyway?"

"Given him a nickname already, huh? Well, I guess you should know. I suppose Vincent has told you that he's an Assassin from New Orleans."

This caused a bit of unrest among the students.

"Not all of you knew, I see."

"Just get on with it, Fury."

"Well, it turns out that Mr. Boudreaux was here to murder three of your students. Would you like their names?"

"Is it the government's practice to arrest people before they've committed a crime?" Beast asked coldly. "As you can see, all of our students are perfectly healthy."

Meanwhile, several of the students were shooting Vincent horrified looks.

"No, but when they're suspects to break-ins and helping fugitives escape, they're free game."

"What are you talking about?" Laura/Talon/X23 demanded in the tone known to make hardened Vietnam veterans piss their pants.

Fury glanced at her cautiously before continuing. "After Sinister's Marauders escaped from our facility, it was discovered that the… man who broke them out, Deadpool, left behind a large pool of his own blood. Of course we performed a number of tests on it to determine location and current identity and wouldn't you know, it came up with a match."

There was a nasty feeling growing in his stomach. A match? To Deadpool? What the hell did that have to do with him? What was this guy talking about? Was he suggesting that _he_ was –

"Are you suggesting that Vincent is Deadpool, General Fury?" the Professor asked. "Because any one of my students can attest to the fact that Vincent was present when Deadpool appeared."

"You are a doctor in genetics, aren't you Professor? Maybe you can explain how two males, who have had no apparent contact with each other until just these past few months, can share over forty-nine percent of their alleles?"

Vincent had no idea what this man had said, but judging by the frozen look on the Professor and most of the other adults' faces, it couldn't be a good thing.

_Vincent_, he heard in his head_. If you have any idea what this man is talking about, please step on James' foot._

He didn't move a muscle.

_Very well. Do not reveal yourself, whatever happens._

He nodded, though he knew the Professor couldn't see him.

"Show me your data!" Beast commanded.

"Doctor!" barked Fury.

A rather shriveled looking old man with pince-nez that did nothing for his squint stepped out of the jeep and hurried towards them, clutching several folders. He shook visibly at the sight of the rather dangerous looking blue creature that stood before him expectantly.

"Give him the files."

"As you will see," wheezed the man, as he handed over the manila folders. "The individual known as Deadpool shares almost half of his alleles with the subject Vincent Boudreaux. The only alleles not apparently shared are comparable as the allele from Deadpool seems to have been mutated into something… else. Judging by the other subjects we have recently acquired, it seems to be the healing gene common in several mutants present at this Institute. However, the mutant regenerative abilities of the mutant Deadpool surpass anything I have seen in other individuals with the gene. I also find it necessary to add that this particular allele also seems to be mutating inside of the subject Vincent Boudreaux so I can only conclude that the mutation we see in Deadpool will soon begin to fully manifest in him. Furthermore –"

"Oh my…" whispered Beast, flipping through the papers and showing them to Xavier, Talon, and Sage, all of whom were looking increasingly grim.

"Thank you, Dr. Mores," Fury interrupted. "Now give us the bottom line."

"Ah yes, ahem, based on the extensive tests we have run, there is a 99.7% chance that the mutant Deadpool is the father of Vincent Boudreaux."

Once again utter silence fell.

Vincent had to fight the urge to throw up. He could feel eyes boring into him; if Fury hadn't noticed everyone staring at him before, he couldn't miss it now.

He found himself swallowing the half-digested remains of the sandwich he had eaten on the boat.

This guy… this Fury… he was insane.

He was just trying to flush him out. That was it.

Yeah. That was it.

His brain showed him the unwelcome image Bridget had shown them all just before Mardi Gras, when her power evolved. His mother kissing a tall stranger in red…

No. That had been his father.

Lazare Mercier.

"You piece of shit!" Wolverine roared. "The kid's dad is dead! Lazare Mercier, looked it up myself!"

"Logan," the Professor said quietly. _Vincent?_

But the young man couldn't have said anything if he wanted to.

On the more physical plane, Wolverine had gone absolutely still, staring at the group examining the file.

"That file is completely legit."

"Cause you guys've been completely on the up and up with us before!"

"Look Wolverine, I don't like this anymore than you do, but I swear to you that this is real. And we need to find out what is going on – see if this kid is a clone, some projection, or just a time the freak forgot to use a condom."

The young Assassin found himself longing for a shotgun, something, anything to take this son of bitch's head off.

"Now. You!" Fury's black eye fell directly on Vincent. "Come with us, son. C'mon boy, you think Bishop didn't send us pictures along with blood? I know who you are, move it. We need to ask you a few questions and run a few tests."

Well he had questions of his own.

A lot.

"I am sorry, General," the Professor said coldly. "But as long as Vincent is under my protection and care, he will not be going anywhere. If you really need to question him so badly, you may do it inside."

"No can do, Xavier. He needs to come with us and we are prepared to use deadly force if necessary. C'mon, Vincent, if you let your friends fight for you a lot of them are gonna die and all of them that actually survive are gonna be locked up."

There was a time when this would have meant nothing to him. He wouldn't have moved. But the thought of these _bâtards_ killing James or Eddie or Alexei… or Sofy or… Noelle.

A hand closed abruptly around his bicep and he whipped his head around to see Lucien LeBeau gripping him fiercely. Fierce dark eyes bored into his. "Don' even t'ink 'bout it."

"I think you will find that we do not respond well to threats, General," the Professor said in a tone Vincent had never heard before. "Especially not when they are used to manipulate our students."

Around him, the students of the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters were shifting into the battle ready stances they had perfected in the Danger Room.

"Wha' da hell're y' doin'?" he hissed at them. "Dey only wan' me! Dey ain' no reason fo' y'…"

Someone slapped him upside the head and Noelle was suddenly beside him. "Weren' y' listenin' da ot'er nahght? Y' one o' us. Y' an X-Man an' we look afteh our own. Now shut up an' get ready."

"Don't make me do this, Xavier!"

"On the contrary, General. It is you are forcing us."

"Fine then."

Projectiles exploded from every vehicle on the lawn and it was only a blast of wind from Storm, a sound wave from Backlash, red energy blasts from Vassily/Red Star and Havok, and a diamond shield courtesy of Bijou that kept it all away.

Soldiers poured from the helicopters, the SUVs and the jeeps and the X-Men leapt forwards to eject them from the premises. Of course, it didn't take long to discover that only a few of the missiles and bullets were actually meant to be fatal. Most were equipped with heavy sedatives and knock out gases.

"Fall back!" Logan roared. "Cajun, target those weapons!"

Lucien darted forwards, narrowed eyes darting through the crowds of soldiers sprinting towards them and taking cover behind their vehicles. "Got 'em."

He slammed his hands together and the air quivered.

Beyond them, rifles exploded apart, pieces of tranquilizer darts falling to the ground and thick white smoke swirling around.

"Done, Monsieur Claws!"

The government boys started wobbling and sinking to their knees.

"Keep that smoke away from us!"

Miss Ororo stepped forwards, head high and face more composed than a queen's, raised her hands and called up a force of winds worthy of a hurricane.

The knock out gas floated out to sea, leaving behind dozens of unconscious soldiers. Those who had managed to avoid the smoke charged towards the rebellious mutants, riot sticks, pepper spray and tasers in hand.

The cans of pepper spray froze, exploded and shattered in their owners' hands. Tasers shorted out in bursts of blue electricity or blew up. In less than forty-five seconds, the only weapons available to the invaders were their sticks.

And Sarah/Wildcat, Lucien/Backlash, and Noelle/Kestrel – not to mention the rest of the students and most of the teachers who weren't dealing with the missiles and such that were still raining down on them – were waiting for them.

Things were actually going very well.

Vincent slammed his boot into an approaching soldier's stomach, stepped through the kick, fell into a somersault and came up on his feet besides Talon. "How we doin'?"

"Quite well. You have not been apprehended, no one has died, and no one has been injured or captured."

BANG

Whipping around, the X-Men were faced with the sight of a burning roof.

The Institute was on fire.

"James!"

"On it!" The firebug seemed to snatch at the air and the flames went out with a whoosh, leaving behind nothing but bare rafters and a few stubborn roof patches.

"Well, least the main structure's alright," Alex Masters-Summers muttered.

A volley of screams beyond anything he had ever heard – barring the time his cousins had caught a Thief no older than seven and begun torturing her for information. They had carved the skin from her arms and laughed when she screamed – this was the kind of shrieking he was hearing.

"Noelle, WAIT!"

Too late.

The Thief had gone leaping over their heads with breathtaking grace and taken to the air.

She didn't get more than three feet forward than something big, yellow and clawed smashed into her and knocked her to the ground.

Sabretooth leered down at his prey. "Well, aren't you cute?"

"HANDS OFF!"

The feral mutant received a kick that sent him flying (and probably pulverized his ribs to hell and gone).

"We're ba-ack!"

Something big and red came out of nowhere and suddenly Vincent was no longer on his feet.

His back hit the ground so hard he thought his spine had smashed like a champagne glass. Then something crashed down on his gut, effectively blasting the air out of his lungs.

"Hiya, fruit of my looms."

Oh God. Oh no.

Vincent pried his eyes open to see Deadpool kneeling on his stomach. The mask above him was stretched out, suggesting a huge grin. "Not you."

**And the truth is revealed! Don't be too hard on it, kay? Tell me if it seemed forced or suckish or if it was awesome.**

**REVIEW!**

**Oh, and PS: the sequels have it - the adventures of Vincent and Noelle will continue after this story!**

_**Dieu…**_** - ****"God…"**


	51. Chapter 51

**And I'm back! Darker and better than ever! WHOO-HOOO!**

**Enjoy and reward me with some reviews. C'mon, show me how much you missed me!**

Chapter 50

Oh. God.

Could this day get any crazier? In the past half hour, his home away from home (which was becoming far more welcoming than the mansion in Blood Moon Bayou ever had been) had been invaded by Uncle Sam's lackeys led by a pirate wannabe named Fury, said pirate had informed him that the mutant madman Deadpool was his father before siccing his troops on them, and now he was being pinned underneath the unyielding weight and grip of Deadpool himself.

The mercenary adjusted his position deftly and Vincent found himself unable to move. His mouth, however, had suffered no damage.

"Wha' da hell're y'all doin' here?"

"Kidnapping. So did you know? 'Cause I didn't. I should have at least gotten visitation rights, don't you think? I mean, I saw my dad all the time – I think… hey lady! Which back story are you using for this story? – and look how I turned out… yeah, good point."

Vincent had had no intentions of bringing up his murky parentage with this freak but this complete non-sequitor completely knocked him off balance; he just barely managed to bite off his original statement and replace it with: "What da hell're y' talkin' about?"

"AAAAAAWWWW! C'mon, you heard Patches! I'm your dad!"

Somehow, hearing it from the red mask hovering above his face was a thousand times worse than hearing it from some dried up government fossil.

"Yeah, I couldn't believe it either – but that whore with the six inch heels and the blonde dreadlocks said it was true."

"Who?"

"Y'know… whatsherna-"

WHAM

Deadpool was off of him and Kestrel was suddenly at his side, hastily heaving him to his feet even as she shoved a familiar looking weapon into his hands.

"Y' mahght need dis."

And she was gone, leaving him with the katana Deadpool had left here months ago. It felt good and comforting in his hands – a result of the long, arduous hours of training he had suffered through at the hands of Wolverine.

The same Wolverine who happened to be on top of a rather battered Sabretooth, pounding and slashing away, while a group of very hostile looking mutants came streaking from the front doors of the Institute.

Several of them looked very familiar.

A buff woman with dark fuzz growing from her recently shaved head and decked out in tight black leather slammed her hands together. A sound wave blasted them all off their feet.

Meanwhile, just behind her was what looked like a human top, spinning so quickly that it was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman and releasing a wave of tiny and not so tiny things from his body. Things that looked an awful lot like –

"KNIVES! GET DOWN!" roared Fury from where he was diving down to hide underneath a jeep.

A shield of solid diamond shot up over their heads just in time to block the downpour of bone knives that banged against the stone ceiling like hailstones on a car roof.

Then the diamond was shattering as a freakishly huge man with a shiny, muscular body worthy of a circus wild man came barreling through. The stranger probably would have flattened Bijou if Atlas hadn't leapt between them and locked hands with the bruiser. The two huge men grappled back and forth like some Dragonball Z reenactment.

"Marauders!" Fury shouted again, whipping out his sidearm. "Open fire on the Marauders! Shoot to kill!"

The two dozen or so soldiers still on their feet tugged out pistols, rifles, and one shotgun, and fired.

The X-Men hit the dirt to avoid the bullets. The slugs cut down a familiar looking anorexically skinny girl with pick burn scars on her milk white face and a short green haircut. Vincent had never seen sniper work from so close up; her head snapped backwards and the back of her skull exploded from the force of a high caliber weapon.

"No! Vertigo! Insects!" screamed the woman in leather and Mr. Universe musculature. Her voice raised to such a painful pitch that for a moment the air was filled with cries of pain. The sound of their yells of agony warped strangely and suddenly the woman was on her back, writhing.

"Bonjour, _Mam'selle _Arclight," came the grim voice of Lucien LeBeau.

His enemy cackled. "Can't overpower me this time, you little bastard!"

There was a bang like bomb and the Thief was thrown through a window.

"Next!" sang the woman, only to be cut off by a sharp whistle that slashed her open from chin to left ear.

"Who said Ah was finished?" snarled Backlash, clambering agilely from the window.

And the two sound manipulators were off.

The figure of a man with burn scars and metal plates liberally spread throughout his skin came looming from the wreckage of the Institute, holding a spear in one hand. Stopping on what was left of the steps of the building, he turned his head imperiously to stare around on the chaos of fighting X-Men, confused soldiers, and the newly arrived Marauders. Then, with terrifying strength and speed, he hefted his spear. The harpoon began to glow ominously.

"_Non!_" Backlash suddenly roared from where he was fending off sonic blasts from Arclight. "Stop 'im! He could blow da whole Institute!"

Vincent sprinted towards the man only to be stopped when two tall, slender forms pushed him aside, leapt up beside the attacker and faced him.

Sofya Rasputin, aka Shieldmaiden, tackled the Marauder in a magnificent sack she had learned through the joint efforts of her brothers and boyfriend. Just behind her was the vicious, dark-eyed Tessa, now Sage, who slammed her foot on their captive's throat.

"Uncharge it!"

"Can't tell Harpoon what to do, fools!" sang the madman, what was left of his dark eyes glittering insanely. "Die!"

The pointed, metal staff glowed and probably would have created an impressive explosion if not for the large, brown hand that clamped down on it. The dark pink glow disappeared abruptly.

"Drop it!" Bishop growled.

Sniper nodded sharply. Bastard he might be, but Bishop would look after the girls.

WHAM

Something very red, hot, and painful slammed into his back and he went flying through the air to smash down onto the ground. Wincing, he turned to see his teacher Alex Masters-Summers, also known as Havok, rounding on him, hands glowing bright red.

Another blast shot at him and he had to roll out of the way.

No one seemed to have noticed that one of the teachers had gone crazy. Wolverine and Talon had teamed up against Sabretooth; Cyclops and Iceman were facing down the spinning man, firing optic and ice beams desperately at the waves of little knives that looked to be shooting from his enemy's skin; Sage, Shieldmaiden and Bishop were absorbed in apprehending the crazed mutant Harpoon; Beast, Forge, and Blayze (James) had teamed up to deal with a stern looking man firing a shotgun with one hand while the other hand hastily put together something under his arm; Red Star/Vassily stood behind one of Bijou's shields while the petite Chicagoan slugged it out with a familiar man made all of crystal; Backlash was still fighting Arclight; Atlas was busy wrestling with his huge, and equally strong, enemy; Cicero/Charles, Storm, Jayden were guarding the still bodies of the Professor, Skyfire/Kelsey Crisp and Sunwing/Eddie Worthington from a skinny thing that might once have been a mutant but was now so scorched it was hard to tell and a tall, scantily clad blond woman; Wildcat/Sarah and Sprite/Alana faced the unforgettable form woman Mystique, the latter two so alike they could have been mother and daughter; Havok, of course, was still firing on him… and Noelle?

Where was Noelle?

But then Havok used him for target practice and he refocused his attention to his back problems.

Noelle shot through the halls of the Institute, twisting like a fish in water to avoid crashing into walls. The Marauders were here and that could only mean one thing.

Sinister was back.

And after Claire.

She took the next turn so hard she had to kick out against the wall to avoid spinning out of control. As it was, she was making far too much noise and couldn't care less – all that mattered were her friends, her children and her sister. Everything else could burn in hell.

There.

Half the walls of the sterile, metal basement had been torn out and a tall, skeletally thin creature in the shape of a man was stepping elegantly over the remains of a wall, closely followed by a huge, behemoth of a man.

A stone man.

"Denzel?" Her veins turned to ice as she screeched to a halt.

An ugly smirk spread across the granite face. "Miss me?"

But her attention had been completely captured by the small armful he carried with no apparent trouble.

She didn't need more than the most fleeting looks to confirm what she already knew.

Claire – these bastards had Claire.

What the hell had happened to the other kids? And where the hell were their assigned protectors, Jubilee, Madonna, and Bridget?

No further thought was necessary and she shot towards them, ready to do whatever she had to do to get to her sister.

There was no telling what would have happened – most certainly nothing that would have improved Denzel's health – had Sinister not cheerfully leveled a Beretta (nine-millimeter) at the still form of Jubilee.

Oh shit.

"Now, Ms. LeBeau," Sinister said reasonably. "I do not want to resort to violence but I really must have your charming sister for my research. I can assure you that she would be returned as soon as my work is finished."

"An' how'll she be comin' back? In a box? Ah don' take too kahndly t' people t'reatenin' mah family."

"It is hardly a threat, Ms. LeBeau. This is science and oftentimes sacrifices must be made."

A sharp stab of sickly yellow fear hit her mind and she sensed rather then saw Dawn Summers peaking over the battered remains of the shelter she and the others had been sent to.

"Den fahnd somebody dat's willin' t' make dose sacrifices an' leave Claire alone!" She stretched out and calmed down the frightened telekinetic; with only feelings to work with, it would be difficult to communicate what she needed the child to do – Damn it! She had never wanted the younger ones involved in this kind of crap!

"Unfortunately the mutants with absorption powers at the level needed for my purposes include only your mother and younger sister. Your mother has proven herself too… troublesome a subject for me to handle. Obtaining Ms. Claire is a far simpler affair."

"Ah wouldn' be so sho'."

WHAM

A huge chunk of the ceiling crashed down and pressed down unnaturally hard on the intruders and Kestrel shot forward, wrenched Claire from Stone's grip, tossed her towards Dawn for the young telekinetic to catch, grabbed the two bastards and shot straight up.

_Magnefique_, Dawnie! She sent feelings of intense happiness and approval to the child even as she flew.

It wasn't until she had punched through the metal, concrete, and wood separating her from the open sky that she felt the pain – agony, really – spreading through her stomach, her sides, and her arms. A quick glance told her that Mr. Sinister had been doing some research: there was blood and bruises on her invulnerable skin (which was getting tougher and tougher at every moment) as Stone slashed his rock arm against hers.

"Guess what, Ellie?" Stone leered, completely unperturbed at being rocketed through the air by his murderous ex-girlfriend. "The doc gave me some upgrades – can't just throw me away now."

The nagging feeling that something was very wrong – well, _more wrong _than it should be at present – distracted Talon even as she gave Sabretooth the final touch, a stab to the left lung and a powerful slash up through the rest of the torso, shredding lungs, arteries, and the heart.

Deadly to anyone except a few choice mutants here tonight and unfortunately one of those few choice mutants happened to be Sabretooth. Well, at least it would keep the overgrown kitty-cat out of their way for a while.

As the feral mutant fell with a strangled gasp and curse, the former HYDRA assassin whipped her head around to find what had disturbed her – oh.

OH.

"Alex!"

Her husband was openly firing on Vincent Boudreaux nee Sniper. The kid's shirt had been burned clear off his body and judging by the smoke issuing from his jeans, those would be going soon too. His only saving grace was his healing factor and his agility, and even with those she could see him fingering that sword Noelle had tossed him.

Better not to further test the restraint of a young New Orleans bred Assassin.

With enough grace and deadly purpose so as to make Madame HYDRA weep with envy, she sprinted across the scorched lawn of the Institute, somersaulted, and slammed her boots against the small of Havok's back.

He went down hard and his red energy blasts spiraled away, thankfully not hitting anyone.

A move that was not part of Alex's wide repertoire sent her stumbling off of his body. Rolling expertly, she came up facing familiar brown eyes with an unfamiliar green glaze to them.

"Hello, sweetheart."

Fury raged inside of her. "Cut the crap, Malice."

"Wha's'a matter?" cooed the voice that was and was not her husband's. "Why don't you just kill me? Oh, that's right, I'm Alex, aren't I? Can't kill the only man you ever loved. I read your file. It would have made such a cute romance novel –"

Laura slammed her (unclawed) fist into Malice's stomach just hard enough to wind and bruise, but not to rupture anything. His back had barely hit the ground when her knees slammed down, pinning him down.

"You should hear him squeal," Malice giggled evilly. "'Don't hurt her, please don't hurt her!'"

_Aunt Laura!_

The telepathic voice in her head made her nearly gasp in sheer relief. Her nephew, Charles, had come to her aid and she was not about to turn him or his mental help away.

_Do something!_

His answer to her plea was instantaneous. Alex/Malice screeched and his/her body arched. Something dark and quivery – like heat waves given slight color – expelled from the X-Man's body and writhed in midair.

"Dear, dear, again, Malice?" said a smooth voice. "This won't do at all."

And the darkness seized. It made the exact same squeal-scream slugs made when sprinkled with salt.

Whipping her head around, she saw Mr. Sinister, his right shoulder, rib cage and leg horrifically crooked, was coolly getting to his feet, eying them with a most disappointed look.

Then the screaming stopped.

The smoky air was gone.

"My poor Malice," sighed the madman. "Look at you. No use at all."

"You are insane."

"I prefer Sinister."

Vincent stood in the midst of the chaos, mind racing but unsure of where to go.

Sabretooth was being dealt with by Wolverine and Talon – he had no intention of getting between those three. This was not the time to see if he could regrow limbs.

Backlash and Arclight were trading sonic blasts so quickly it sounded like a thunderstorm gone berserk. No way in hell.

Bijou had her hands full with Prism, but trying to step into that was only going to make things worse for Julia.

Red Star had left Bijou's side to join Cyclops and Iceman to apprehend the freak still spinning and still shooting those knives. Uh… no, a pin cushion he was not.

The burned guy with the harpoons was getting the crap kicked out of him by Shieldmaiden, Sage, and Bishop. His help was not needed there.

Blayze/James had set his enemy on fire, much to the relief of Beast and Forge, both of whom were bleeding badly. That was taken care of.

Atlas had managed to drive his opponent to his knees by forcing the hands back over the brawny arms and pressing mercilessly. Not something he was going to interrupt.

Though the Professor was lying very limp and still in his wheelchair, along with Sunwing, Skyfire, and the newly incapacitated Storm, Jayden/Reaper and Cicero were doing very well in beating the two Marauders into submission – Cicero was mentally driving the scantily clad blonde and Reaper was pummeling the scrawny, blackened man with a bone club. They were doing just fine for themselves.

Wildcat and Sprite/Alana, however, were in trouble. Mystique was proving to be too much for the two of them and the remaining, conscious, and able instructors were all sprinting to confront the unmistakable white form of Mr. Sinister.

Hm. That looked problematic. He started towards them.

BANG

A crash enough to shake the entire Institute sounded through the air.

And the reason was quickly apparent.

It was Denzel "Stone" Hawkins, his stone façade cracked (probably a good indication of his mental status at the moment) and an insane smile across his face.

Something in blue jeans with bright auburn hair flashed at the corner of Sniper's eye and further inspection told him that Kestrel had just gone careening through the air. She managed to flip her body upright before touching down. Her boots hit the ground and she slid backwards.

The smooth grass soon had two long gouges torn through it like brown scars in green skin.

Vincent couldn't take his eyes away from her right arm – because despite the bruise on her shoulder that would activate her invulnerability and strength, her arm was torn up and bleeding. A razor blade might as well have been taken to her skin – or maybe she'd picked a fight with a blender. A good portion of her shirt was ripped around her stomach, revealing dark bruises and several deep gashes.

But Noelle didn't seem to register the red blood streaming down her body. She bent her knees slightly and pushed herself into the air.

Taking flight faster than any military jet – classified or otherwise.

The force with which she hit her ex was enough to punch through the door of a safe at Fort Knox and still have enough momentum to tear through the other side. Stone tumbled backwards and the concussion of her hit sent Sniper stumbling.

"Sorry, Ellie," sang the former X-men. "That won't work this time. You can knock me over but you can't break me! Sticks and stones can't break my bones and you can never hurt me!"

"We see."

He slid through the trees silently. Usually, he would have whistled as he prowled in the shadows, knowing he would be utterly undetectable if not for the strain of Yankee Doodle, but there was no one around to her him whistle and he really did have something to do.

An explosion rang out a few hundred yards away and approximately thirty seconds later, a sooty Sinister came creeping towards him.

"Good evening, Mr. Wilson."

"What's up, Doc?"

"I noticed you didn't kill Mr. Boudreaux."

"Nope."

Silence.

"You are being surprisingly taciturn."

"Yup."

"My Marauders do not seem to doing very well."

"Nope."

"If you will, Mr. Wilson, kindly retrieve Mr. Creed and Ms. Darkholme. They are quite useful. Oh. And get me Mr. Hawkins as well. He responded quite well to my treatments but there is still room for further research and improvement."

"Yup."

"Oh. And Mr. Wilson? If you would kindly get back Ms. Claire LeBeau and use your… doorknobs to remove her siblings. And kindly remove Mr. Boudreaux as well. They are rather troublesome."

His mask didn't twitch. "Yup. What's the info on the girl's brother and sister and the other kid?"

"They could all pose potential problems for me."

"Yup. Anything else? Anything I should know?"

Silence.

"Not anything of real importance. I daresay you know their fighting styles quite well by now."

"Yup."

"Mr. Wilson, I find myself utterly shocked to say this, but your newfound silence is rather… frightening. Don't you have anything else to say?"

"Yup." And then he was gone.

**As a helpful hint, the less Deadpool speaks, the more shit you are in. One word answers generally don't mean anything good.**

**Now review!**


	52. Chapter 52

**And Chapter 51! In which numerous things happen and you should carefully read and go easy. I don't like the way it came out... But writing Deadpool is always fun.**

**Anyways... enjoy!**

Chapter 51

Kestrel knew what Sniper was thinking the moment he lifted his slick blade and winked at her.

The bastard had been right when he said she couldn't break him; crushing didn't work, she couldn't pull limbs off his solid form; dropping him only ruined the landscape and basic fighting was like hitting a brick wall as a normal girl.

But would…?

What did they have to lose?

She took flight once again and zeroed in on Stone.

As expected, the traitor stepped aside and snatched a rock hand at her lean arm. She let him grab her, let him get a good grip on her arm, before she darted forwards, dragging her trapped limb and captor behind her.

It was a thousand times worse than having handcuffs that were too tight. Because handcuffs didn't tighten their hold until her bones themselves groaned in protest, and they certainly didn't try and jerk her arm from its socket.

Her agony was cut short with a swift, whistling, sword swipe.

Denzel made a sound unlike any human being she had ever heard – mutant or otherwise – as a normal, brown skinned arm fell to the ground, spewing blood.

A grim look had spread across Sniper's face. "Looks like y' ain' so invulnerable."

"You bastard!"

"Two word sentences. Yeah, dat'll scare me."

Sniper rotated the wrist of his sword hand, letting the blade swing lazily. "But le's see if M'sieu Sinister's improved yo fightin'."

Her friend shot her a look. "Go fin' Sinister."

She could have kissed him; as it was, she gave him a quick and simple surge of gratitude before taking off.

Not even a moment had gone by Noelle realized that something was wrong.

She was dizzy… lightheaded.

Screeching to a dead halt in midair, Kestrel tried to take a deep breath. But she couldn't.

There was no air to breathe.

Oh God.

How long could she go without air? She asked herself desperately even as her eyes raked her surroundings, trying to find –

There.

"Well now, Ms. LeBeau, this is really quite impressive. I had no idea your mutation extended to your ability to hold your breath. How interesting."

How the hell was he keeping her from breathing?

Her lungs stung.

Right. Moot point now.

She hoped to hell that she could kill him before she passed out.

To say that Stone was an easy opponent was an insult to easy opponents everywhere. Two strikes and he was on his knees.

Shaking his sweaty bangs out of his face, Sniper raised his sword and prepared to sever the traitor's spinal cord. It wouldn't kill him, but it would certainly put him out of the action for a while. Assuming of course, Sinister hadn't done anything else to him.

He swung.

CLANG

Another katana had appeared to block his strike.

"Found you, wayward sperm."

At that moment, Vincent Boudreaux decided that the entire universe was determined to make him loose his mind.

"'Bout time you got here!" Denzel snarled. "This guy was just about to-"

Deadpool's free arm slashed and suddenly Stone had a slash piercing his lung and running up into his heart.

Instantaneous death.

_Bordel._

Sniper switched to a defensive position and began hoping to God that he could hold off this maniac until help could arrive. His instincts told him that wasn't going to happen. He was on his own.

"He was talking too much. Don'cha hate it when people talk too much? Unless it's me of course." Deadpool wrenched the sword from the dead man's torso and kicked backwards carelessly, toppling the body back into the dirt.

"I can talk as much as I want." The two swords swung and the fight was on.

The Assassin backed away as the skilled swordsman mercilessly battered away at his defenses, nicking him here and there. On the arm. The leg. Under the armpit.

It almost reminded him of the first time he had fenced with Noelle. Just before the cruise he had finally managed to touch her. One touché for him, several hundreds for her.

But that had been training, this was real life. A touché could be the end of him.

"Argh!"

A lightning quick slash at his head opened up a surgical cut just at his hairline. Blood spurted out, joining the sweat covering his hair. It was in his eyes, stinging terribly and practically blinding him, but he didn't take his hands away from his sword, nor his gaze from Deadpool.

Through it all, his alleged father kept up his steady stream of chatter and for once Sniper had no breath to counter to the inane comments and questions – which was unfortunate because Deadpool was comparing them and wondering at the similarity.

"-but seriously, I don't know why I didn't see the resemblance between us! Our voices are just alike – except yours has more of a Ryan Reynolds resonance and mine has an edge of Demi Moore – what do you think… what's your name again?"

Sniper found his breath was coming harder to him now. This guy had more than fifteen years experience on him – not to mention the young X-Man was utterly exhausted. He could feel his healing factor working desperately to keep him on his feet, but soon that wouldn't be enough.

The mercenary lightly rapped him on the side of his head with the blunt end of his sword. "Hey, Vincent, what's your name?"

He reeled backwards. "Why y'askin' when y' already know?"

"'Cause I like it. In English it sounds dorky, but Frenchified –" Vincent's feet came off the ground, the sword wrenched from his grip. His back hit the grass with a thud.

As he struggled to get to his feet something very sharp pushed against his throat and kept him down on the ground.

"Hmmm… let's see… good shine… no nicks… no fraying on the hilt… Roxanne, babe, you've never looked better!"

Roxanne? Who the hell was Roxanne? Did he have back-up?

No… he- he was talking to the sword he had taken from Vincent.

"Y' call yo' swords Roxanne?"

"'Course not! The one you took from me is Roxanne. This one about to slit your throat is Michelle. Isn't she gorgeous?"

"UUUUUhhhh… yes?"

"Yeah, she is, but Roxanne is my favorite. She and Michelle are both tipped with adamantium, you know. Completely unbreakable and can cut through anything."

Well, that certainly explained why the sword had held up against Wolverine's claws in the Danger Room and why he'd been able to slice through Denzel like he was made of wood rather than stone.

"Oh."

"Hey, Vincent, what's your name?"

There didn't seem to be anything to do except answer – he was completely pinned and helpless. "Well, it ain' Vin-cent. Y' pronounce it Vehn-sahn. Vincent Julian Boudreaux."

He took care to enunciate each syllable; if Deadpool was going to kill him, the bastard was at least going to say his name right.

Deadpool hmmed. "At least that sounds cool. Like a French secret agent. You can hate the French, but the way their names sound is cool. At least that blond slut gave you a cool name. If she'd named you Huey, I'd've had to kill you. And her."

There was nothing to say to that, but his brain spit out. "Y' ain' _mon père_."

"Sure I am. Y' look just like me – before the whole cancer, Weapon X, Deadpool thing. And plus, about nineteen years ago I hooked up with this blond slut in New Orleans. And we fucked every night I was there. I never used a condom. So what does common sense tell us?

"No, really, what does it tell us? I left my sense in my other pants."

"It says dat y' were in New Orleans at da time I was conceived an' jus' happened t' hook up wit' a girl."

"Y'know, denial's not just a river in Brazil."

"Da's da Amazon."

"The country?"

"Da river!"

"The Amazon's not just a river in Brazil?"

"_Non!_ I's denial's no' jus' a river in Egypt!"

"So you admit that you are in denial!"

"No Ah didn'!"

"Hey, did you know that your accent's changing?"

Thrown by this, Vincent sputtered. _"Quoi?"_

"It's getting more of a twang. You been to Mississippi lately or are you just picking that up from your girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?"

"Y'know… that hot Cajun chick who keeps trying to break me in half? Tell her she still needs to teach me how to do that!"

"Noelle? She ain' mah _petite amie_!"

"She isn't?"

"No!"

"Wow, you're stupider and crazier than I am! Have you seen her ass? And her legs? And her breasts? And her –"

"_Ferme-la!_ She ain' a piece o' meat!"

The red mask stretched into a wicked grin. "Vincent's got a cru-ush!"

Okay, seriously?

"_Dis_, Deadpool. Y' sittin' on mah chest – an' y' should know y' ain' light – in da middle o' a battlefield when we should be tryin' t' kill each ot'er!"

He slammed his jaw shut. Sacre, _I been hangin' out wit' James too long, sayin' crap like dat an' tryin' t' get mahself killed!_

"But battlefields are great for having heart to hearts. I've had all my greatest talks while fighting for my life and killing people."

"Well, if y' gon' try an' kill _moi_, y' should get started now. Mah healin' factor makes meh pretty damn hard t' kill."

The sword Michelle pressed dangerously against his jugular vein. "Would cutting your head off kill you?"

"Would it kill you?"

"Well, they say the thirty-sixth time's the charm."

"Den it prob'ly won' kill _moi_. I never got mah head cut off 'foh."

"Hmmmm… oh, well! Guess there's nothing I can do!"

And Sniper's lasting shock, Deadpool hopped up off of him, and then dragged him to his feet, shoving the sword Roxanne into his hand. "Alrighty then, fruit of my looms, it's been fun."

And once again the proof that he had been hanging out with James too long popped out of his mouth. "Ain' y' gon' kill meh?"

"Nah… you're funny. And you got a cool name. And you're my kid. So I'm not gonna kill you. Bye! Tell the blond slut to remember the condoms next time! Take good care of Roxanne!"

With those highly disturbing words, the madman who was supposed to his father made to walk away. Then he suddenly turned around again, "Hey, hey, Sniper, that chick that tried to rip me in half? The hot one you say you don't have a crush on? DE-NIIIIIIAAAALLLLL!"

Don't attack the crazy man, he reminded himself. You won't win and it'll be painful.

"Wha' about her?"

"Ask her out!"

"Wha…?"

"Yeah, she's cute, sexy, has a hell of an ass, and she'd fit you like a glove! Oh, but you better do it soon – before Sinister suffocates her."

Vincent turned so hard to see what Deadpool was pointing at his neck gave an alarming crack.

His heart froze at the sight of Noelle lying very still on the ground, while Mr. Sinister stood over her menacingly.

Oh. God. No.

Noelle lay as still as possible. Her lungs were screaming, black spots were gathering on the edges of her vision, and she could barely think straight.

One good thing: Sinister no longer had much of a right arm. What was left of it was a mangled chunk of meat and bone fragments lying at the bottom of the ocean somewhere – barring a medical miracle and advanced nautical search gear, that limb would never be a working part of a body again.

Another good thing: There was a chunk missing from the bastard's chest. With any luck it was a sucking chest wound that would kill him by the end of the night.

Her death wouldn't be in vain.

But back to other thoughts – thoughts of how she was going to survive this.

Whatever Sinister had done had made any and all available oxygen disappear and for someone whose lungs often needed to work at double capacity that wasn't good.

Her mouth opened as her body went into panic mode but there was nothing to breathe.

She was going to die. Lying here in the dirt with no breath and alone except for this mad scientist after her sister.

No. Focus.

Papa would say that there was no such thing as a no win situation – 'dere's always a silver linin' _petite_'. Mama would say panicking and giving up was more of a death sentence than almost anything else.

How could she make this a win situation?

By not dying?

That wasn't looking to be much of an option…

FOCUS!

If she was going to die, he was going with her.

Clamping down on her tongue, she bit until blood flowed. Then she pounced.

Sinister's pulse blast thing hit her hard but she pushed through it. Half-blind, she snatched through the air, and miraculously closed a hand around something that felt very much like a throat.

So she squeezed. And squeezed.

But the strength was going out of her grip and alien hands were on hers, trying to pry them off.

No. No. NO.

Things were becoming disjointed.

Something brushed passed her.

Something was hitting her face.

Something was dragging her away from who she was strangling.

Shouldn't whoever it was' neck be broken by now…?

An explosion or two and a voice erupted into howling.

Then someone was yelling at her.

She didn't know what they were saying.

Something slammed down on her stomach and she gasped.

Air rushed into her mouth.

Instantly everything was roaring sound.

People were shouting and screaming. There was the occasional explosion, but suddenly as quickly as it started it was now suddenly all strangely far away. For the most part now the only thing she could really hear was a pair of pounding sounds.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Judging by the location of one of the poundings, it was her heartbeat. It was slamming in her temples, her chest, and her wrists…

The second sound was another heartbeat just behind her head.

"Noelle?"

Another sound had entered her consciousness – someone was talking to her.

"Vincent?" Her voice was hoarse and her throat was thick and dry.

"Yeah, y' okay? _Cava_?"

"Ah been betteh." Kestrel was abruptly aware of a sickeningly familiar dose of emotions. "He's back."

And he was. Sinister was standing up right, calmly leveling a handgun and seemingly unaffected by the fact that his face looked as though it had come in contact with a small wrecking ball and his head was wobbling alarmingly on a neck that looked like that of a strangled chicken.

Thief and Assassin moved.

Both knew they wouldn't be able to outrun or stop the bullet.

There was a single shot and Vincent let out a hoarse yelp.

Both listened desperately for the second shot but it never came.

A slash had severed the Sinister's hand.

"Hi, Sinister."

Oh holy shit, no.

Deadpool had a sword in hand, and one more tucked away in a scabbard on his back.

That would have been bad enough, but somehow, the sheer silence of the red mercenary made the situation go from dangerous to death immediately imminent. The emotions stemming from him weren't helping either – mostly cold fury that made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up and tingle uncomfortably.

"This isn't working out."

And then Sinister's head was gone, something that looked too dark and clumpy to be real blood spurted out of the body.

"See? I kill people. Not my girls and not my doorknobs. Me."

"Y'killed him." Apparently lack of blood flow to her brain was causing her to state the painfully obvious.

"Yup."

"Why?"

"He was a lousy tipper."

"Y' ain' a waiter." Vincent was crazy.

"And you aren't a teapot." Deadpool was crazier.

"Y' bot' insane."

"Nah, just related."

"Dat's even worse."

"I ain' related t' y'!"

"Sure you are! See, when a guy screws a girl – like if you screwed what's-her-face here – and you guys had a baby, then that baby would be related to you! Unless what's-her-face was cheating on you… Are you cheating on him?"

"How c'n Ah be cheatin' on him if we ain' t'gether?"

The eyeholes of Deadpool's mask widened comically. "You _still_ haven't asked her out? What about the fitting?"

"What, y' mean da comment dat I'll need t'erapy fo'?"

"You're going to a therapist? Is she going to blame this all on me 'cause of that one time in the psychologist's office when I bonged the secretary on the couch, or that one time I went to see a shrink –"

"Y' been t' see a shrink?"

"Yeah… only once. When I tried to go back, they told me some nutcase in red who talked to himself drove her crazy after just one session."

This conversation was doing major damage to her IQ levels. "_D'accord_, so are we done here? Or d'y' got anyt'in' even remotely relevant t' contribute, _M'seiu_ Deadpool?"

He stared at her as though s_he_ was the one who had lost her mind. "I never contribute anything relevant, what's-your-face."

"Noelle," she snapped; her body ached, she was exhausted, her arm was in agony, and this was most assuredly not helping matters. There was no patience left to deal with Deadpool – especially when he could not be bothered to say her real or codename.

"Sassy," the madman said approvingly. "Nice. Now let's see… kill Rockhead? Check. Kill Sinister? Check. Affirm paternity to wayward sperm. Check. Remind self to use a condom next time for the sake of simplicity – No love without a glove. Check."

"_Mon dieu_…" Vincent groaned.

Whatever else he was doing she couldn't see, having chosen to bury her face in her hands in utter… was there even a word for this situation?

Deadpooled out. That was about as close as she was ever going to get.

And it wasn't as though the mercenary currently sheathing one of his swords as he continued with his verbal checklist _didn't_ deserve his own word.

"Check. And check… Oh. Yeah. Give wayward sperm proof of paternity." With eyeblurring quickness, Deadpool slashed open his own ribcage with a knife he seemed to pull from thin air and then tossed the bloody blade to Vincent. "Check. Remind wayward sperm that if he forgets to wax Roxanne I'll come back and maim him. Hey, waywar-"

"I heard!" If Vincent got any redder he was going to explode.

"Right then. Bye, wayward sperm Vincent! Bye, what's-your-face Noelle! Say hi to Wolvie for me! And Vincent, remember what I said about the fitting! It'll be like two puzzles coming together. But with more gasps, moans, orgasms, and explosions!"

Heat rose in Noelle's face so quickly she thought she had caught fire.

"Good-bye, Deadpool!" Vincent shouted, cutting off the weirdo's next comment.

"BYE!"

It was only after they were both sure he was gone did she demand of Vincent. "An' how many times've you been shot? Wha's dis 'bout fittin'?"

"In order? Twice tonight. And you don' wanna know."

Lucien felt as though he had just been drained dry by his mother. His entire body was tired and he longed for his nice bed… if it was still in one piece.

But Arclight had gotten some major upgrades since the last time he'd seen her – there'd be no overpowering her tonight. Which left outmaneuvering and outsmarting her.

Thank God he was good at that.

"Whassamatter, sugah?" hissed his opponent in a hideous imitation of a southern accent. "Gettin' ti-ired?"

"O' listenin' t' you? _Sans doubte_."

He stood up straight and listened. When his powers had first manifested themselves when he was thirteen, the first clue had been his enhanced hearing – that morning, gusts of wind and pounding had woke him up. It had taken a while for him to understand that he had been hearing his own breathing and heartbeat.

Now, he listened for another heartbeat.

"Didj' know dat everyt'in' in da world makes a sound?"

Arclight smirked. "Is that right? Did your kindergarden teacher tell you that?"

"Learned dat on mah own, actually. Everyt'in' from da damn tree in da middle o' da woods, t' earthworms… t' heartbeats."

The leer on the Marauder's face disappeared to be replaced with a horrified, furious snarl. "You little bastard!"

Before she could do so much as take a step forward or gather up a sonic blast, he flicked a lazy finger and a good portion of her back exploded out. Blood sprayed out, along with bits of spine.

Backlash swallowed down vomit and turned away from his handiwork – this was his first time trying anything like this in practice rather than theory. It wasn't lethal – this time anyway – but she would never walk or fight ever again. And this got her out of their hair for at least the rest of the night.

"It is over for you as well?"

The Cajun mutant spun about to see a bruised Atlas coming towards him.

"Hey, _mon ami_, still alive?" He offered his hand and his left handed best friend slapped his huge right hand into it.

"_Bonjour_, Mystique." _WHAM_ "_Au revoir_, Mystique."

As his Grandmother went flying off into the waiting clutches of Talon, he caught sight of Sofy leaping down from the front of what was left of the Institute.

"Harpoon is defeated," she said quietly, coming up to him. "Bishop absorbed all of his power, and had myself and Sage hold him down so his neck could be broken."

"Y' okay, _chère_?"

"I… have never seen someone die like that before."

"Y' okay?"

"No… have you ever…"

"Nevah killed anybodeh – dat wasn' our job – but Ah have seen people die."

"Does it ever… get… easier…?"

"Y' don' get used t' it. Well, Ah ain' used to it."

Her great blue eyes closed and she tipped her head back. "Wonderful."

_**Bordel.**_** – "Holy shit"**

_**petite amie **_**– ****"girlfriend"**

_**Ferme-la! **_**- "Shut up!"**

_**Dis**_** – "Hey"**

_**Sans doubte**_** – "Without a doubt"**


	53. Chapter 53

**The Geek Squad has resurrected my computer! I should scrap this thing and get a Mac – I so much as get on Youtube and I get a virus.**

**Anyway, thanks for your patience… here is the next chapter!**

Chapter 52

Alana's chest had been utterly burning and her limbs like lead when Mystique had abruptly left to do whatever it was she was going to do. She had barely had time to try and catch her breath when her grandmother was sent spinning back by a sound wave from Backlash.

"Oh no."

"Don't sweat it," gasped Sarah from over her shoulder. "I got help."

The young shapeshifter turned to see the slick black leathered figure of Talon – Sarah's mother.

"Go find Claire and the others, and keep them safe." The assassin eyed Mystique coldly. "Let's see if I can do what Logan can't."

"C'mon, Lani," Sarah urged her. "Mom's got this."

And looking back on Miss Laura standing with her claws sliding out smoothly as she approached the crouching blue-skinned Marauder, Alana didn't doubt the younger girl's words in the slightest.

* * *

Alexei stepped over the unconscious body of Blockbuster and held his shoulder gingerly – the man had a skull like a chunk of diamond and it had taken a pair of solid uppercuts to lay him out, the final hit popping his arm from its socket.

Around him the operatives of SHIELD were finally approaching to restrain the fallen Marauders. _About damn time,_ he thought sourly to himself.

The Institute's once immaculate lawn was pitted with craters, gouges, little flaming pits, bodies… all manner of unpleasant things. Half the roof was gone, revealing the bare rafters – ribs of a wounded animal – and in some places even the beams were gone. Chunks were missing from the sides and parts of the mansion's façade had been blasted away.

They might as well have attacked the house themselves… okay, maybe not… there would have been nothing left if the X-Men taken it into their heads to try and destroy their own house. As it was, the house was in sorry shape and it would probably take the rest of the school year to put it back together. If they used an ordinary construction. If they did it themselves… maybe a month, factoring in the disasters that inevitably plagued a makeshift repair team of mutant teens.

Painful gasping distracted him and he turned to see James coming towards him, one hand holding onto his shoulder where he was fiercely bleeding.

"Are you alright?"

"Peachy. That bugger we were fighting fired off a few rounds before I could thoroughly roast him."

"You were shot?"

"No worries, mate. It's nothing too serious – just a shoulder wound. Hurts like hell, though."

"Join da club, _mon ami_," groused the familiar voice of Vincent Boudreaux.

"Would y' stop complainin'?" snapped the uncharacteristically sharp voice of Noelle LeBeau.

Not daring to believe it, the two young men looked around and saw the two Cajuns wearily approaching them. The couple looked distinctly the worse for wear; both were bleeding freely from a few scores of cuts each. Vincent had well over two dozen slashes and gashes ranging from deep cuts on his legs, lining his hamstrings – as precise as a doctor's scalpel – to tiny scratches dancing with incredible ease around the critical arteries in his throat, to lacerations on his face, and a few bullet wounds thrown in for fun. His shirt was gone, the only trace of it was a few scraps of cloth fused to his body in the mass of red burns that covered his lean, muscular back. The jeans he was wearing were just barely clinging to life and his legs. Noelle, meanwhile, looked drawn and pale. The normal windblown look of her hair was offset by the little red-purple-black bruises forming on her cheeks, forehead, arms, and neck, as well as the prominence of the delicate filigree of veins in the whites of her eyes. Her tank top and jeans were ragged and threadbare – most likely from tearing through the air at speeds and G forces that would turn anyone else's brain to a bloody mush. Her arm looked as though she had tried to wrestle with a rose bush – a rose bush with the strength to pierce her invulnerable skin and the urge to flay her open down to the bone.

In short, they both looked like hell.

"What happened?" Alexei asked. If someone had managed to do this much damage to Kestrel and Sniper…

"Fo' meh, Sinister, an' Stone," Noelle explained dully, cradling her maimed arm to her chest.

"Mostly Havok an' Deadpool," Vincent stated tonelessly. "Wit' a fair bit o' Sinister sprinkled in an' a tiny bit o' Stone."

"Stone don' count," Kestrel told him. "All y' did was cut off his arm in ten seconds – he didn' even realleh touch y'."

"Dat jus' means I da better fighter."

The young, beautiful Thief glanced at him; her eyes were those of an amused warrior princess eyeing a mouse challenging her. "D'y' realleh wan' test dat t'eory, _mon ami_?"

Vincent – not very wisely – didn't back down. "Sho'. Why not?"

"'Cause we've got better things to do than kill our teammates," snarled Wolverine as he stumped past them. The grizzled veteran was going to be in for a night of intense healing; he looked at the two Southerners. "What the hell happened to you two?"

"X-Men vs. Marauder stuff," Noelle answered.

"And your arm?"

"Sinister gave Stone some upgrades."

"Stone? Our Stone?"

"Da _batard_ dat cheated on meh Stone. He ain' ours no mo'. But he's dead."

Logan sighed and popped his right shoulder back into its socket with a hair-raising curse. "Great. Just effing fantastic."

* * *

It was a very uncomfortable General Fury, what was left of his forces alive and not, and the decimated Marauders who were politely, but firmly shown the gate (what was left of it) and told to leave and not come back without an invitation.

"Or today's insane crap'll seem like a welcome mat," growled the ever comforting Wolverine.

But Fury still wasn't satisfied – apparently the happiness of having Sabretooth, Mystique, and the rest of the Marauders, including the body of Sinister (head and body – kept carefully apart, of course) in his custody paled in comparison to the disappointment of not having Deadpool or Vincent.

Vincent did not mention the drying blood on his sword – it was his business as to whether what everyone was saying was true or not and really no one else's. If Deadpool really was his father, then there was no way in hell he had any intentions of testing it in front of anyone else but the Professor and the other teachers.

As it was, it was past nine o' clock (and it might as well have been nine in the morning considering how tired they all were) when everyone finally made it back inside what was left of their home. For the most part, the inside was actually fairly solid – if you ignored the places where it looked like a giant had taken huge bites out of it, a giant toddler attacking an equally giant cookie.

Taking one look at the demolished front hall, the Professor ordered them all to the lower levels for debriefing and medical attention. They had barely started for the elevators when the intruder was noticed.

"What the hell are you still doing here?"

Bishop shuffled his feet unhappily. "Please Tess –"

"Don't call me Tess."

"Tessa… the baby… I didn't know about the baby. Please. I handed in my resignation to SHIELD. At least let me stay long enough to see the baby."

The cold black eyes of Sage skewered him. "You are a traitor."

"Professor!" He turned desperately to look at the telepath. "Am I still welcome here? Can I stay?"

The elderly man frowned so deeply that the lines in his forehead seemed to swallow his face. "You may stay for the night, Lucas, but tomorrow we will discuss this further."

"Thank you."

But Vincent was more interested in talking to Beast. "_Dis!_ Hank!"

Poor Dr. McCoy had dark bullet wounds carved through his blue skin where he had dodged his enemy's attack, but he was still more than willing to listen to what Vincent had to say and request of him.

"Are you sure that this is Deadpool's blood?"

"_Absolument._ I stood dere an' watched him slice open his own side."

"Truly? Why did he do that?"

"Said he wan'ed t' give _moi_ proof."

"Well, that is quite interesting. I assume you want the results immediately?"

"Please… but… don' go t'rough any unnecessary trouble if y' don' got t'."

The teacher/doctor chuckled. "Your manners are greatly improved since you came here."

"I's mah southern charm."

Mr. McCoy laughed. "I believe Noelle and Lucien have rubbed off on you, my friend."

The Assassin Prince blinked in surprise before settling into a light smirk. "Dere's worse people, I guess."

"Indeed there are. Well then, if you'll just give me that, I'll tuck it away for later tests, and I can return to treating everyone's injuries."

Monica had been rendered completely unconscious, along with Bridget and Miss Jubilee, which meant there could be no healing in a minute and a half for those without healing factors. So Cyclops, Iceman, and Vassily were left with deep puncture wounds, Julia had a broken arm, Alexei a dislocated shoulder, Alana various bumps and bruises, Lucien had bruises the sizes of baseballs all over his body (Hank worried about internal bleeding), Noelle had a savaged right arm and a bruised and bleeding abdomen, Sage and Bishop suffered from light burns and scratches, James of course had a bullet wound in his shoulder and Eddie, Kelsey, and Alex Masters-Summers were still sleeping.

The only ones who had escaped any kind of real injury were Wolverine (the gaping wounds didn't count as they would be gone by noon tomorrow), Talon (see previous parenthetical statement), Sofy (unbreakable skin and bones… duh…), Cicero (telepathic battles are hardly physically taxing), Sarah (her shattered sternum and fractured wrist were knitting themselves back together steadily – see Wolverine and Talon) and Vincent. Who was not inclined to think of himself as relatively unscathed even if the slashes all over himself, the bullet holes in his arm and shoulder, and his one or two fractured ribs would be healed in a day or so. He still hurt like hell and his headache was not at all pleasant.

The youngest kids, thankfully, hadn't suffered much more than the mildest injuries and Hank only needed a few minutes to declare each one healthy and ready to go to bed.

'Going to bed', however, was not as simple as it had been a few hours ago. Since half of the upper floors were demolished, the Professor and the other instructors ordered for everyone to sleep down in the cold, sterile, metal basement.

This was not greatly appreciated by anyone.

As the only ones allowed in the hospital bay beds were the severely injured and unconscious, the older students and teachers wearily lugged out emergency cots, blow up air mattresses, and dragged blankets out of closets as the children milled about, crying over bandaged limbs or just staring and clutching favorite stuffed animals.

Vincent (not considered severely wounded) awkwardly hauled his mattress one-armed along with a thick wool blanket into a corner and pitched himself down onto it, groaning at the sharp stabs of his many injuries. He was almost immediately asleep.

The dream of the dragon in the pit had risen up in his mind, overtaking him when…

A slight weight had settled down on his mattress.

The Assassin sat up so fast, he sent Allison and Dawn tumbling over.

"Wha' in da world're y'all doin'?" Noelle demanded. She was surrounded by her usual train of mutant ducklings, her arms (injured and uninjured) holding mounds of blankets and pillows and a very pale Brianna. Her skin was an exhausted grayish color and dark circles were already starting to form under her eyes.

"This is the only mattress left," explained a little voice.

"Da poin' o' bein' da onleh mattress lef' means dere ain' nobody on it."

Vincent had never heard Noelle so short with her charges, but judging by her expression, she was longing for a few days of sleep. Her tone had not had much effect on Dawn. The tiny girl was curling up in his lap, her thumb in her mouth, a teddy bear cradled up against her cheek, and her eyes already steadily sliding closed.

Later he would wonder if it was this or Noelle's look of intense disbelief and slowly mounting impatience, but whatever it was, he found himself saying: "_Eh bien_, if y' promise not t' be gropin' _moi_ in mah sleep, Noelle, I let y'all share da mattress."

She blinked at him twice before beaming at him – his heart stopped and he had to fight to keep from grinning back idiotically – "_Merci beaucoup,_ Vincent."

* * *

It was not overly comfortable sharing one mattress (even if it was king-sized) with another almost-full-grown adult (even if she was a girl) and just under a dozen kids (even if they were all fairly small). For one thing, three of them snored, one hogged covers, two whimpered and cried in their sleep, four kicked, and – horrors – one was wearing a diaper and rubber lined pants. Oh God.

But whatever the drawbacks, when he woke up with Noelle stretched out on her back beside him (he chose to ignore Allison snuggled up between them), her breast rising and falling rhythmically with her deep breathing, her hair a mess, and the color in her face back with a vengeance and the shadows beneath her eyes gone, he felt better than if he'd earned a thousand Master Assassins' statuses.

Of course, his good mood took a serious turn for the worse as his sleep clogged eyes focused on a very pissed Wolverine.

"What is this?"

WHACK

The short Canadian's lecture was abruptly cut off when a slender foot darted from the confines of the blankets and bashed its heel into his shin.

"HOLYFRIGGINMOTHEROF-"

"Shut up, Logan."

Noelle was pulling herself into a seated position, her eyes their gemlike color again, her skin bronze and pink and healthy, and her expression annoyed. "_T'as une bouche grande. Ferme-la._"

Anyone else would've been lectured and tormented in the Danger Room within an inch of their life, but in the face of Noelle's calm, matter-of-fact, order even the Wolverine had nothing else to do but quiet down and snarl out, "I see anyone's pants come down and –"

"Please, Ah ain' gon' waste mah virginity on dis." A scornful hand waved itself at Vincent.

He was just about to burst with outraged indignation – she could only wish that he would… yeah, best not to go there – when the young Thief tipped him a mischievous wink and a grin broke out instead.

Logan scowled at the pair of them, "One peep and –"

"Y' de only one makin' noise 'round here, _mon ami_. Now get lost 'for y' wake up mah kids."

Logan's face just got redder, but Vincent could only grin wider.

"Would the two of you just shut up and go to sleep!" the older man made to walk away. "Damn Cajuns!"

"Noelle?" murmured Allison, looking around sleepily.

"Go back t' sleep, _chérie_," Noelle said gently. "Logan's jus' leavin'. Ain'cha Logan?"

"Yeah, yeah." He left.

When it was certain that the would-be chastity belt had really gone, Vincent lay back down and watched – trying very hard not to be too obvious about it – as his bedmate settled beside him and made herself comfortable.

"So… I ain' wort' losin' y' virginity fo'?"

"Unless y' wan' t' be explainin' dat t' _mon père et mon frère_, Ah'd advise y' neveh mention dat again."

He winced and hastily changed the subject; the recording on his phone replayed in his head. "_D'accord_… Night."

"Nahght t' y' too."

* * *

Noelle arched her back lazily. She was warm and comfortable, surrounded by happy, trusting little bodies with a larger body beside her, radiating confusion and powerful longing.

Frowning, she sat up and looked around at Vincent. The Assassin was frowning deeply in his sleep and muttering unintelligibly under his breath. His brow was furrowed and he kept jerking.

"Vince?"

"Cain' reach…" he murmured. "Jus' wait… 'm comin'."

"I's alrahght, _mon ami._ Y' c'n reach if y' jus' try." She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle wave of positive emotions.

He stretched out lazily and snuggled down into the air mattress, his breathing deepening.

She smiled and rolled over. There were definite perks to being able to divine what others were feeling, she thought, burying her face into her pillow. Downsides, yes. Oh yes, but this made it all worth it…

Sharp twinges in her arm woke her up several hours later at which point she gingerly slithered out of the blankets and floated past the refugee camp of mattresses and cots, determined to get a cup of coffee before her kids woke up and demanded attention.

"Hey, Noelle."

"Hello, Bishop."

The disgraced man was sitting with his back against the wall, eyes focused on the sleeping form of Sage.

"She ain' gon' be too pleased t' wake up an' fahnd y' starin' at her."

"Shut up."

"Don' be takin' it out on meh dat yo' full proof plan t' get Vincent taken bah SHIELD blew up in y' face. Dis all yo' fault so y' mahght as well grow a pair an' deal wit' what's comin'. Now, if y' excuse meh…"

"You're as annoying as your father."

"_Merci_, dat's vereh kahnd o' y' t' say."

_**Dis!**_** – "Hey!"**

_**Absolument.**_** – "Absolutely."**

_**Eh bien**_** – "Oh well"**

_**T'as une bouche grande. **__**Ferme-la.**_** – "You have a big mouth. Shut up."**

**Awwww… ain't they cute? Now, for your contribution: what should Bishop and Sage's baby be? A boy or a girl? And name suggestions are welcome too!**


	54. Chapter 54

**Well, congrats... by unanimous decision, Sage and Bishop are having a girl! Break out the little pink dresses!**

**Now... ahem. Here's the awesome Mother/Son showdown between Vincent and Belladonna. **

**And Lucien gets a nasty surprise...**

**Yeah, lots of fun things here.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 53

Vincent stood between James and Eddie as the Bishop's trial began. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Noelle standing a few yards away, her uninjured arm around her sister.

"Lucas Bishop," the Professor began in his most serious tone. "You came here as a spy for SHIELD to illegally obtain blood samples from us and the students. Do you have anything to add to this?"

"They said it was a matter of national –"

"Security," interrupted Logan harshly. "We got it. Now get on with it."

"After you refused to voluntarily donate samples of your DNA to SHIELD, the higher-ups decided that they couldn't wait for the formal demand went through. If it even got through. So they recruited me to approach the Professor with my story of wanting to settle down in a safer place and maybe helping with the next generation."

A strange grating noise told them all that Wolverine was grinding his teeth.

"Anyway… it wasn't supposed to be like that. Fury said that he was just going to come here and take Vincent in for questioning. No jeeps, no machine guns, no tasers, and sure-as-hell no tanks. I don't know what the hell he was thinking."

"I'll tell you what he was thinking!" Scott Summers snarled, beating Logan to the punch. "He was thinking he would be able to surprise us and bully us with a show of force to give up Vincent without a fight. He thought he could just come here and take one of our students just because he didn't have any other leads on Deadpool!"

Maybe he had misjudged Summers – seemed he wasn't such a prick afterall.

"If he'd had suspicions he should have brought them to us so we could have done the tests and questioning!"

And maybe the moon was made of green cheese.

"And pray tell, Scott," Beast growled. "What difference would it have made if Vincent was the son of Deadpool?"

The visored man scoffed. "Do we really need to go into that Hank? We aren't a reform school – and why weren't we told about this Assassin's business? Isn't it bad enough we have arsonists and Thi-"

"Scott. Enough." The Professor shot his former student a warning glance before turning back to Bishop. "Can you give us any reason for us not to eject you from the grounds?"

"All I can say is… Please don't send me away. I've handed in my resignation to SHIELD. I've cut ties. I'm going to be a father. And… I like it here. I like this team. I don't want to leave."

"That's all?" drawled Wolverine sarcastically. "Fine. Any comments from the peanut gallery?"

There were a few mutterings, but no one seemed willing to say anything. Vincent was in favor of keelhauling, himself.

"Tessa?" Xavier prodded, eyes kind. "May we have your opinion?"

The dark haired woman stared past them all, focusing on the bare metal walls. "Statistics suggest that a child raised by a single parent is more likely to suffer psychological damage compared to those growing up in a two parent household. It is possible that growing that in an environment where there are many people willing to donate their time and energy to the raising and… loving… of a small child may offset the damage, but such a study has never been recorded."

"About what we should do with Bishop, Tessa."

"He was acting logically, Professor. Everything he did was for the good of his mission. However, the realization of what he would be delivering Vincent Boudreaux into, as well as the realization that he was betraying a group he has become attached to, including his lover who is now expecting his child, has rerouted his decision making to the emotional portion of his brain. Due to the severity of his shock at what his extensive use of logic in life has afforded him, it is highly probable that he will switch to the use of emotions and instinct for the majority of his impending decisions.

"He is highly attached to myself and the embryo, and will not risk our safety by working against my team. In addition, he is the type of individual to privately take on the sole responsibility of looking after and protecting a person and thus it would be highly beneficial to allow him to stay for my own safety, the embryo's safety, and the team's safety. Assuming of course that he is not lying."

"He isn't."

"He ain'."

Inclining her head slightly to acknowledge the appraisals of the telepath and empath, Sage went back to outlining her opinion. "Rationally, it would be wise to keep him on, Charles. Emotionally, I would not be opposed to hurling him from cliff into the sea."

"Thank you, Tessa."

There was a long moment of silence in which the Professor surveyed Bishop over neatly folded hands. "Lucas. I hope you understand the seriousness of what you have done. I sense that you do, but I would like to make something completely clear. You have destroyed any trust we had in you. It will take months to rebuild it – and some of us will never be able to fully trust you again. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor."

"However, you have shown remorse and the willingness to regain our trust and for that I will offer you a second chance. But know this: if you attempt to betray us again what my students do to you will seem mild compared to what I will do to you. You are still welcome here."

This did not go over well.

* * *

Vincent and Lucien braced long, lean legs and heaved a huge sheet of dry wall into the pile of trash they were making on the ruined front lawn. Though they were exempt from school for the day, the Professor – but mainly Wolverine – had told them point-blank that if they weren't ill or overly injured, they were going to be if they didn't help in the cleanup efforts.

"_Sacre_, T'ief boy," Vincent grunted as he heaved at a chunk of wood sticking out of the wall. "Couldn' y' have dropped da bitch 'thout all dis mess?"

Normally, he wouldn't have been so snarky but his wounds had yet to heal fully – something he didn't understand. Beast's only reasoning had been that maybe the shock of learning who his father might actually be had affected his healing factor.

"_Désole_, 'Ssassin boy," drawled the other sarcastically. "Nex' tahme Ah'm fahghtin' a crazy bitch, Ah try not to mess wit' da decoratin'."

"Dat ain' what I'm sayin'! Jus'… couldn' y' 'ave killed her faster?"

"Ah didn' kill her."

"Y' didn'? Are y' insane?"

Lucien gave him a look that put one in mind of an angry demon. "Maybe y' ain' noticed, Boudreaux, but Ah ain' one o' y' cousins. Ah ain' an Assassin."

The two young men eyed each other, two predators sizing each other up.

"_D'accord, d'accord_, retract da claws, ladies."

Thief and Assassin stopped to see Noelle looking at them with her arms crossed and one eyebrow arched disapprovingly. "Are y'all finished actin' lahke idiots?"

"He started it," Lucien grumbled.

"Ah don' care who started it, Ah'm finishin' it."

A smirk made its way across Vincent's face. "Am I da only one waitin' fo' her t' send us t' our room wit'out supper?"

Noelle laughed and winked at him. "Ah'm buildin' up t' it."

He grinned at her. "Yes, ma'am."

"Mouse!" Logan yelled from across the lawn. "Come get your kids!"

She was still yelling even as she hurried away. "Jake! Get yo' hand outta dere! Pour dat on Brianna, Tony, an' y' be scrubbin' da Danger Room 'til Ah get tired!"

"So," Lucien said in a quiet, conversational tone, as he walked with Vincent back towards the Institute to haul some more junk. "How long y' been in love wit' _ma petite sœur_?"

The Prince of Assassins, trained since birth, tripped, stumbled, and fell on his face. Getting up on all four, he gaped up at the older boy, eyes huge.

Okay… that was not a huge giveaway. He could still save face if he just played it cool.

"Wha – are y' – why d'y' – how'd y' – _QUOI!_?"

_Yeah, real smooth Boudreaux. Why don'cha y' jus' tell him wha' happened when y' saw her in dat bathin' suit? O' y' could jus' tell 'im y' kissed her an' den carried her when she was unconscious… see how fast he blasts y' in half?_

"Don' play stupid wit' meh, _garçon_. I's obvious. Now let meh be completely straight wit' y'. Da onleh reason Ah ain' tryin' t' kill y' rahght now is 'cause Noelle lahkes y'. An' if y' trah anyt'in' stupid wit' her, Ah swear on _la Sainte Verge_, Ah will end y'."

This was definitely the son of the _Diable Blanc_; there was, however, one big difference. He knew Luke – they were the same age, they had spent two hours together cursing over an SUV that just wouldn't start, he had sparred with him and seen him come staggering out of his room at five in the morning for Danger Room sessions – he really knew him.

"_Je comprends, mon ami_. But I ain' plannin' on tellin' her. Y' got any idea o' how much trouble she'd be in if anybody finds out I… I ain' gon' kill her?"

Lucien chuckled grimly. "Got a pretty good idea, yeah. So if y' don' plan on tellin' her –"

"I's better fo' da bot' o' us if we jus' stay… whatever it is we are."

"She t'inks yo' her friend. No accountin' f' taste."

An inexplicable swelling of happiness filled his stomach and a grin was across his face before he could do anything else.

"_Mon dieu_, Vincent…" the other groaned. "D' y' gotta make it so obvious?"

"Cain' help it. Ain' lahke I'm adjustin' myself o' anyt'in' like dat."

The Thief gave him a dangerous smile, the same one Noelle got right before she kicked his ass across the Danger Room. "Ain' in y' interest t' be doin' dat, _mon ami_. Mahght have t' stop it f' good. In da interest o' Noelle."

Just his luck that the girl he was in… like – ah hell, who was he kidding? – _love _with had a brother with a nasty overprotective streak and a sadistic sense of humor.

* * *

Lucien gulped down water, ignoring the chatter around him.

How the hell had he missed it until now? There had sure as hell been signs.

He should have guessed it immediately on the cruise when they had shown up together at the dance.

It had only been the lightness in Vincent's laugh and the softening the boy's eyes that had put up the huge red flags.

Why hadn't he figured it out?

Because Noelle was too smart and practical to fall for someone trying to kill her. _But Vincent ain' tryin' t' kill 'er no mo'_, hissed an annoying voice in his head. She could like him much as she pleased. And judging by the Assassin's reaction earlier, the idiot had fallen for his sister harder than a brick dropped from an aircraft.

She just thought of Vincent as a friend, he reminded himself. There was no need to be jumping to conclusions. There was no proof that Noelle liked the guy as anything more than a friend. A really good friend.

Père _was rahght_, he decided silently. _We shoulda locked her up when da breasts came in._

But Vincent was definitely right about one thing; if Belladonna Boudreaux caught so much as a whisper of whisper that her son had no intention of killing them, the entire Institute would wake up to find themselves overrun by fully trained Assassins, if they woke up at all. And if she found out her son was in love with one of them? They'd be lucky if she didn't nuke the whole damn house.

He groaned and poured the rest of his water over his head.

"Damn 'Ssassin… cain' keep his libido in check… has t' be fallin' f' –"

"Is there something the matter, Luke?"

The young Thief turned and smiled easily. "Jus' t'inkin' o' some stuff, _chère_. But lemme ask y' somet'in'."

Sofy Rasputin nodded agreeably at her boyfriend. "Of course, ask what you wish."

"Does Vincent lahke mah sisteh?"

The girl choked on her water. He ended up pounding her on the back for almost thirty seconds before she managed to get in a few breaths. "You… only… _hack_… ask this now?"

Fighting the feeling of alarm and rising discomfiture, "Wha'd'y' mean onleh now?"

"He has been… how do you say… crushing? On Noelle for quite some time. Since at least March, I believe. He has been in love with her since before the cruise."

"Ah _mon Dieu_…" He rubbed his hands through his hair. "An' does she lahke him back?"

"Maybe not quite as much as he likes her, but she is quite fond of him. And not in the way she likes the other boys or even you."

"_Sacre_. Anyt'in' else Ah should know?"

Sofy smiled at him. "If you truly wish to know, you should ask your sister. Somehow I doubt she will be pleased to know that you are asking about her behind her back."

He chuckled a bit at that. "Y' eveh read Humpty-Dumpty?"

"Is the egg your head?"

"Ah wish it was mah head."

His girlfriend took a moment to think about that before breaking into shudders.

* * *

Vincent stared at the printout. Two groupings of differently colored horizontal lines were lined up next to each other, stretching from the top of the paper to the middle, with a small caption below.

The little black letters were running together in his mind even as Beast explained what it all meant.

"You are Subject A and Deadpool is Subject B. As you can see…" Huge blue hands carefully folded the paper in half and held it up to the light. "Over half of these lines overlap. You share roughly half or your DNA with Deadpool. I'm afraid that what SHIELD says is true."

But it was the final line of the little paragraph on the paper that was repeating over and over in his head. _This test accounts for approximately 97.95% of the similarities, leaving a 2.05% margin for error._

"But dere is a chance dat de test is wrong. Says so right here."

Beast looked at him kindly. "Vincent, there is no other explanation – I can offer you some-"

"T'anks f' y' help, _M'sieu_. I gotta call _ma mère_."

He got the feeling that the doctor was trying to say something but he was in no mood to hear anything but a very sound and convincing explanation from his mother.

His cell phone was sitting on the mattress he shared with Noelle and the children. Grabbing it, he hastily dialed a number that he hadn't tried in a while.

"_Allo_?" came the throaty voice of his mother – a quality that he knew she had perfected for the benefit of keeping unsuspecting marks unsuspecting and making them dead faster.

"_Mam'selle." _

"Vincent?"

He could practically hear her start to salivate and it made him sick; was she really so hung up on Noelle and her siblings dying?

"Is it done? Are dose little bastards all dead?"

Apparently so.

"Who's _mon père_?"

"_Quoi?"_ the woman's tone was now nonplussed, and maybe just a little nervous.

"_Mon père._ Who was he?"

"Why y' askin' dat? An' what about dose T'ieves? Dey dead yet?"

"Answer de damn question, Guildmistress! Who's mah father?"

"Watch yo'self –"

"Jus' shut up! Tell me who is he is?"

"Lazare Mercier. Now lis'en t' me, y' little bastard..."

"Da's a pretty accurate t'ing t' be callin' me."

"Wha' da hell're y' talki-"

"Y' remember Deadpool?"

Silence.

"Oh, come on _Maman_. Y' remember him. He's da one who busted inta da house, 'member? Y' tol' me t' kill him on sight. I jus' figured it was 'cause o' our people dat he killed… but den he said somet'in' very interestin'."

Belladonna tried to say something but Vincent continued ruthlessly.

"He said he was my father. Said dat he spent almost a month wit' y'. Said he spent every one o' dose nights… _beddin'_ y'. Don' recall y' ever tellin' me anyt'in' like dat. Did it slip y' mind? O' were y' sleepin' wit' so many men dat y' jus' lost track?"

"How dare –"

"He gave me a sample o' his blood."

His mother was starting to breathe very hard – normally that was a run-away-now-before-she-EATS-you sign, but at this particular moment, he didn't give a flying rat's ass.

"I's a match t' mine. He's my father. What d'y' got t' say 'bout dat?"

Dead silence. Like, tomb not opened for a million years, dead silence.

"Y' should o' left well enough alone, Vincent." His mother sounded like the zombie out of the million year old tomb. "Wha's it matter if he's y' father? It don' change not'in'."

It took him a moment to be sure that he wasn't going to completely curse this woman out and force out polite – well, politer – words.

"Y' call lyin' t' me mah whole life not'in'? Y' tol' me dat da T'ieves killed my father. Dat de Prince – _le Diable Blanc_ – gunned him down in cold blood right in front o' y'!"

"Well, now y' know da truth. Now. Give me an update on –"

"Y' ain' gettin' shit. Now tell me now. Did y' lie also 'bout Marius? Did da T'ieves really knife him down in an alley? O' did he jus' die o' a heart attack?"

Silence.

Then, "He died when da news o' dat… bitch bein' pregnant came. So what if dey didn' kill him in de alley? Dey still killed him."

This was making his head spin and his mother wasn't even finished. She was babbling on and on, her voice rising hysterically. "Wha's it matter who did what? Dat bastard lef' me. Jus' killed _mon_ Julian an' didn' even try t'… he jus' left an' married dat little whore!"

"Wha' da hell am I doin' here den!" he raged into the phone, cutting her off. "He didn' kill _mon père_ o' Marius, an' Julian was an accident –"

"_HE LEF' ME! JUS' LEF'. HE WAS MINE AN' HE HAD NO RIGHT T' BE LEAVIN'! NOBODY JUS' LEAVES ME! HE SHOULDA BEEN GLAD HE HAD ME – FREAK LIKE DAT!"_

"I'm a freak like dat."

"You're our freak. Dat Deadpool was a crazy _fil de putain_ but even I admit dat breedin' y' turned out better den I expected. An' we got plans f' y'."

"What, Belladonna? What'm I s'pposed t' do after dis stupid trip t' satisfy y' damn bruised pride? Y' wan' me t' go afteh da guy who stood y' up at prom?"

"I am y' Guildmistress an' y' will do as I –"

"Y' lied t' me. Y' lied 'bout nearly everyt'in'! Y' tol' me only what y' wan'ed me t' hear so I'd do what y' say!"

"Y' little idiot child, y' should be t'ankin' fo' everyt'in' I done f' y'-"

"Oh yeah, manipulatin' me an' usin' me t' kill a bunch o' innocen' kids… y' jus' mother o' de year material, ain' cha. I did everyt'in' y' ever asked o' me. I loved y'. I _killed_ fo' you. An' all y' wan' is mo' – no matter what y' got t' do t' get it!"

"Well as long as y' a part o' da Guild –"

"Consider dis my resignation. Bye. Oh, an' dey ain' dead."

Vincent slammed his phone closed – the phone the Thieves had given him when his had broken that Mardi Gras night – and hurled it at the wall. The sturdy cell merely bounced off the wall and lay quietly on the ground.

She had lied to him. About everything. There had been no murdered Lazare Mercier, there had only been Belladonna Boudreaux hunting down a mutant assassin to breed someone to avenge her lost honor – no, not honor, humiliation.

Breed. _Breed._ Like he was a dog to do with as she pleased. Come, boy. Stay, boy.

Kill, boy.

He had only ever been a tool to her.

His mind flashed back to the time Noelle had hit him with those feelings of being loved and comforted by a caring parent; no wonder he hadn't been able to recognize that feeling. His mother had never even properly told him a damn bedtime story.

For God's sake, Deadpool was probably fonder of him than that woman. He probably would have been more than happy to divulge into a story – an undoubtedly violent and gory story and one highly inappropriate for a child, but still – if someone asked.

He took out the knife that had once belonged to his uncle Julian. His fingers ran over and over the blade.

It was a while, but at last he stood up, clutching the blade in his hand tightly.

He needed to take a walk.

**And there you have it! Round One - don't even think you've seen the last of the Guildmistress. Secrets in Noelle's past next week, so tune in to Sniper next week! **

**REVIEW!**

_**Sacre**_**– "Holy (fill in the blank)"**

_**ma petite sœur**_** – "my little sister"**

_**garçon**_** – "boy"**

_**la Sainte Verge**_** – "the holy Virgin" [Mary]**

_**Diable Blanc**_** – "White Devil" (New Orleans' little pet name for Gambit)**

_**Je comprends, mon ami**_** – "I understand, my friend"**

_**fil de putain**_** – "son of a bitch"**


	55. Chapter 55

**Aftermath… mostly bonding and some fluff.**

**Enjoy.**

Chapter 54

Noelle hummed to herself as she crunched into a crisp apple, watching as her children scribbled bright patterns on blank paper with crayons.

Her mood was significantly improved by her freshly healed body and the sight of Claire giggling and talking with Saya, Graziella, and Sayuri. The weather was beautiful, they were excused from school for the rest of the week – even Principal Kelly couldn't argue passes written by the President himself – and repairs were going nicely.

The instructors had made up a shift schedule for who would work on what repairs at what time. She had just finished her shift in helping haul shingles up to the roof.

Something that could be best described as moving pit of rage, betrayal, and heart rending sorrow passed her in the form of Vincent. The Assassin was dressed in a clean pair of jeans, and a long sleeved T-shirt. He looked considerably cleaner than he had last night, though his face still bore traces of the wounds from last night.

And he was seriously angsting.

Couldn't this boy keep his head on straight? She wondered even as she got to her feet. Was she always going to have to fix him?

She had been doing that a lot lately and even though that in itself wasn't a bad thing – people went through rough patches all the time – there was something about this guy that was dangerous.

Despite what other people (Charles and Scott Summers) thought, Noelle LeBeau was neither stupid nor salacious – she knew perfectly well that she was attracted to Vincent. Knew that the attraction was climbing to dangerous levels – she was seriously in danger of falling for the guy.

And she knew what a bad idea that was. Hadn't that been proven already with her father and Vincent's mother? Even if Vincent gave up and severed his ties to his family, Belladonna Boudreaux would be absolutely without mercy and would quite cheerfully kill her son to get to them.

Most people would have tried to stay away from him, let their head settle and try and get this feeling out of them, but if there was one thing she had learned in the years since her empathy had manifested it was that you couldn't entirely kill a feeling, trying would only blow up in your face.

"Alrahght, _mes chéries_," she called to her kids, "Ah'm gon' be gone f' a little bit, so Ah'm puttin' Claire, Sayuri, Grazi, an' Saya in charge. Got dat?"

"We in charge?" Claire asked, her ears perking up.

"Don' let it go t' y' head, _petite._"

* * *

The Institute was situated in the midst of a bit of woodland. Directly to the rear of the mansion, through a healthy covering of trees, was the cliff that overlooked the ocean.

Vincent sat on the very edge, his legs hanging off into space. The wind brushed his thick blond hair from his face.

Before him, the sea folded in on itself, gleaming like a huge sheet of silk.

It was beautiful…

"If y' plannin' on tryin' t' kill y'self, Ah'd advise a gun. I's faster."

He slashed Julian's knife from his pocket at the newcomer.

The blade screeched to a stop before it could even brush against Noelle's slender throat.

"Noelle! Ah, man! _Ca va_?"

The girl laughed even as she settled down beside him. "Considerin' y' de one who still got marks from las' nahght, maybe Ah should be askin' you dat."

She reached out and touched the paper cuts that had been deep, serious gashes on his face last night. "Why ain' dese gone yet?"

Little streaks of electricity followed her fingertips as she traced one along his hairline. "_Sais pas…_"

A light chuckle near his ear nearly made him shiver. "Dere we go, dey disappearin'."

The stiffness in his arms was vanishing and the soreness of his back was gone. Drawing up the sleeve of his injured arm, he was pleased to see the bullet wound replaced by unmarred tan skin. A quick touch to his shoulder told him that his other injury was healed as well.

The feather touch on his face vanished as Noelle placed her hands just behind her to brace her up so she could stare up at the sky. "Y' feelin' alrahght?"

"'Course, y' saw da wounds close up, didn' y'?"

She shook her head delicately; her bangs danced. "Ah ain' talkin' 'bout physically, _bête fil_. Ah'm talkin' 'bout Deadpool."

His hands curled into fists. This was not something he wanted to discuss – he had come here to escape thinking about that.

And Vincent meant to tell her that, meant to tell her to mind her own damn business, but as he went to tell her that, the look in her eyes stopped him. It wasn't pity – he would have yelled at her for pitying him – it was… something else. Something that made his anger drain away.

"Jus' got off de phone wit'… Belladonna. Told her 'bout de blood test."

"What blood test?"

"Y' remember how Deadpool slashed himself open an' gave meh da sword?"

"Hard t' fohget."

"I had Hank do a paternity test."

Noelle's head snapped up and she looked at him with undivided attention. "An'?"

"I's true." He slumped forward, putting his head into his hands. "Dat crazy bastard's _mon père_."

A hand rested gently on his back but there were no comforting feelings forthcoming. "An' how do we feel 'bout dat?"

Vincent opened his mouth, ready to let loose a spiel of anything but the truth, but whatever lies he had been thinking of got caught up in his throat.

"I never really liked de idea o' bein' an Assassin 'til de day I met y'."

"Wow, an' here Ah t'ought y' lahked meh."

"Wha? Non, non, non! See, ot'er T'ieves were de ones who chased _moi_ int' da canal an' I c'n remembeh t'inkin' dat _ma me_- dat Belladonna was right. Dat T'ieves were all evil an' I needed t' teach 'em a lesson. Den, de day I wen' t' see y' again – Halloween – I t'ought dey'd killed y'. Dat made it… worse. I swore I'd kill all da T'ieves I could. It was jus' after dat dat Belladonna started really tellin' me dose stories 'bout Lazare Mercier an' Julian. An' all dat time she was lyin'.

"All dat trainin' was f' her. I trained t' be an Assassin so nut'in' would happen t' her, like it did – like I t'ought it did t'… anyways…

"She _lied_, Noelle. She lied t' me f' eighteen years an' den she had de gall t' tell me dat I should be _grateful_ fo' it. Fo' breedin' me wit' dat… t'ing an' tellin' meh dat yo' family killed _mon père_…

"I did everyt'in' she ever asked o' me. Everyt'in'. I killed fo' her. I never questioned 'er. An' she'd jus' smile – not even sometimes – an' send me off t' do somet'in' else. She never cared 'bout anyt'in' but her own stupid pride. I got blood on mah hands 'cause o' her. I c'n still here 'em screamin' in my head."

A light weight smacked the back of his head. "_D'accord, d'accord, mon ami,_ lahfe ain' fair, Ah know. But y' ain' de onleh one t' be stabbed in de back by dey paren's, trus' meh on dat one. An' y' ain' de onleh one who's killed anot'er human bein'."

Harsh fury rose up in his chest. "How would y' know 'bout any o' dat? Y' had de perfect lahfe –"

She cut him off. "_Ca suffit_! Y' wan' know why mah lahfe was so good? 'Cause mah paren's had crappy lives an' crappy paren's. Dey knew wha' not t' do, so when we came along, dey did dere best. An' don' y' t'ink f' one secon' dat y' de onleh one in de world who killed people even when y' didn' wan' t'.

He would later attribute this next retort to the childish urge he had to continue wallowing in angst. "Like who?"

"Logan. Mah father. Mah mama. Me."

Vincent shot to his feet.

Stumbled.

And nearly toppled down into the water crashing along the cliff below.

Noelle yelped, threw her arms around his waist and dragged him back to solid ground.

They fell with a thud into the dirt.

"You WHAT? Y'… y'… y' couldn' o'… not YOU!" he sputtered, scrambling to his knees and staring. "Not you…"

The young Thief sat up and looked at him calmly. "When Ah was real little, dere was dis old man who lived across da street. Ah didn' lahke him much. Dere was somet'in' 'bout de way he walked. Da way he spoke. Da way he looked at meh. Every day, Luke an' me would walk t' school an' den we'd walk home. Dat old man would jus' sit on his porch, watchin' us. Watchin' me. Ah nevah tol' anybodeh 'cause Ah didn' know wha' was happenin', but afteh a few years he stopped lookin' at meh. Ah still didn' lahke him.

"Den Claire started school. We started walkin' her t' de preschool an' dere was de old man again. It was as we was walkin' past his house on dat firs' day when Ah saw he was starin' again. But not at me. He was starin' at Claire. An' jus' as we passed him he looked from her t' me. An' Ah looked him in de eye fo' de firs' tahme. I t'rew up all oveh de sidewalk. An' dat's when Ah understood. Ah realized dat he wan'ed t' hurt mah sister an' de look in his eye was wrong. Evil.

"When Ah looked up, he was standin' dere rahght on de ot'er sahde o' de fence. An' all Ah knew was dat Ah had t' make him as scared as Ah was. Dat he had t' be so scared dat he'd neveh come near us again."

"Wha' happened?"

"He grabbed his chest an' fell oveh. When de ambulance got dere, dey said his heart gave out 'cause of a… panic attack. Not'in' lahke anyt'in' dey'd eveh seen befo'."

Neither said anything for a moment.

Vincent's brain felt numb. Noelle had killed someone. NOELLE. The one who didn't hurt anyone unless she had to – even when Charlie Summers had demanded why she bothered wearing the virgin's color on Easter when everyone knew she had long since thrown her… anyway, she had only given him a black eye and threatened to rip his reproductive organs out. Even when people shot at them, she only broke arms and weapons, never had she ever killed or even used her deadly force in such a way that it would kill another.

She hated killing. Didn't even really support the Death Penalty.

And now she was telling him that someone was dead because of her? Had the world gone mad?

"Y'… y'… How old were y'?"

"Almost nahne."

"Did y' know?"

"What? Dat it was me dat killed him? Or what he was feelin' t' Claire? Firs' off, Ah always knew Ah was gon' be a mutant. Dere was no way 'round it – mah mama was one an' so was mah daddy. Jus' a matter o' tahme 'till Ah manifested. 'Till we all manifested. An' Ah jus' knew it. Ah looked at him an' Ah knew. Lahke how Ah know now – all Ah c'n figure is dat mah powers spiked when Ah saw him an' realized what he wan'ed. But fo' a whahle Ah was always worried dat maybe Ah'd been wrong. An' den dey tore his house down – it was condemned – and dat's when dey found 'em."

"Found what?" He didn't want to know and he knew she didn't want to tell him, but she spoke anyway, her voice hollow.

"Graves."

"Graves?"

"_Petites filles_ buried in his backyard. All b'tween de ages o' two an' seven. Jus' _bébés_. No wonder he didn' wan' meh no mo' – Ah was too old."

"How many?"

"_Vingt-six." _

"T-twen'y-six?" Vincent sank down beside her onto his knees.

"Y' don' fo'get somet'in' lahke dat."

He hesitated a moment, then wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Ah hope y' don' feel guilty. Da bastard deserved t' die."

She stiffened beneath him. "Since when did it become rahght fo' people t' decide whet'er anot'er person should live or die? Ah know he was evil – da las' body dey found in his yard was buried onleh a couple months befo' he died – Ah know he woulda done it again. Ah know it wasn' realleh mah fault, Ah didn' have any control o' mah empathy – didn' even know Ah had it. But still… Ah will always remembeh his face."

"Would y' do it again?"

"If one o' mah kids o' one o' y'all were in trouble, Ah'd do what Ah had t' do. But Ah'd still remembeh what Ah'd done. Ah don' understan' how people c'n jus' kill each ot'er an' act lahke it don' mean not'in'."

"It don' mean not'in' t' us. Not t' me, anyways. I c'n still remember da firs' guy I ever killed. He was jus' a few years older dan me. I didn' even find his name out 'til I took out his wallet t' destroy his ID. Michael Gregorian."

"Mah guy's name was Lawrence Caldwell." Suddenly her drooping shoulders pulled themselves up under his light touch and shook him off. "But dat's not what we here t' talk about. What y' done. I's in da past an' y' got t' decide wha' y' gon' do 'bout it."

"What're y' talkin' 'bout?"

"Wha's y' penance gon' be?"

"Penance?"

"C'mon, y' Cajun. Y' know what it means."

"Y' jus' assumin' I'm Catholic?"

The eye roll she gave him was truly magnificent. "Don' screw wit' meh, Vince. Y' Cajun same as me. Dat means y' Catholic – same as me."

He couldn't stop the smile that tugged at his lips. "Okay, y' got me dere. Now tell me 'bout dis penance deal."

"Well, when Ah wen' t' confession –"

"Y' wen' t' confession? As in wit' a priest?"

"Non, a pimp. Anyways, da Fat'er tol' meh dat it wasn' mah fault – didn' believe meh – but said dat if Ah felt da need t' make up f' what Ah did Ah should try an' do somet'in' wit' mah lahfe dat would help ot'er people."

He gaped at her. "Dat's why y' an X-Man."

She nodded with an ironic smile. "Gotta make mah amends somehow."

"C'n I really make amends?"

"Y' sorry?"

"Yeah."

"Y' wanna make up fo' it?"

"Yeah."

"Y' willin' t' work hard?"

"Yeah."

"Den Ah don' see why not."

"Dey ain' gon' wan' me t' stay when dey find out."

"Who? 'Bout what?"

"De X-Men. 'Bout Deadpool."

She knocked his shoulder lightly with hers. "Don' be such a drama queen. Y' ain' got any control o' who y' daddy is. An' besahdes de only people who'll care 'bout y' dad o' y' past'll be Scott an' Charlie Summers. An' dere opinions ain' wort' a damned t'ing."

Vincent shifted. "An' dey won' care 'bout who I am?"

"Do y' even know who y' are?"

"Not really. Care t' give yo' opinion?"

Noelle turned her head to grin at him. "Y' Vincent Boudreaux. Anot'er Cajun lahke me an' an X-Man t' boot. Y' Sniper. An' a pain in mah ass. So don' be gettin' all mushy on meh. Now get up an' help meh wit' mah kids."

* * *

_He sat up at the bottom of the pit, flapping his surprisingly strong wings. The snakes fell off him in droves, hissing in protest. The viper around his neck was spitting in panic but he quite honestly didn't care._

_The freak wolf/lizard thing was sitting on a rock embedded in the floor and wall of the pit, smacking its chops contentedly. After a while, it stood up, crouched, then leapt up._

_Like a snake striking, he lashed out and snapped his fierce jaws closed. _

_On empty air._

_Light paws ran over his back and an abrupt stabbing pain erupted from his neck. _

_Snarling, he raised a clawed foreleg to drag that little bastard off of him, but it was back on the rock, its tail lashing against the stone. It took a moment for it all to click into place._

_It was not from the strange animal that had just vomited up a chunk of bone and proceeded to gnaw on it methodically, its eyes never straying from him, unless the creature had somehow managed to cause the yellow serpent to just spontaneously sprout spikes on its(her) tail. Each one of those long needles were digging harder and harder into his scales._

_He snorted and snarled in pain._

_The wolf/lizard hybrid sat up and leaned slightly forward, his ears cocking in interest._

_The viper screamed suddenly as something with bronze and silvery feathers came streaking down and blatantly attacked the serpent. The thick poisonous creature swung its spade-like head around to follow the beautiful falcon with its beady black eyes but the bird was already too far away for the adder to try anything unless it (she) was willing to release its(her) grip on him._

_It (she) didn't hesitate. Wrenching the barbs from his neck, it (she) launched her lithe body towards the falcon but it only took a single, powerful, wing flap for the would-be prey to put itself out of harm's way. _

_And just like that, he was free. _

_But only if he wanted to be…_

* * *

Noelle glanced around at her children giggling and drawing eagerly in the library. Beyond them were several of the older students sprawled on vacant couches or empty stretches of floor. In the armchair just beside hers was Vincent, dead to the world and switching between snoring softly and shifting in his sleep.

"Lookit, Noelle!" squealed Brianna, shoving a bit of paper under her nose.

Blinking a bit, the older girl took it. It was a surprisingly good rendering of the Institute, though the smiley face sun, clouds, and flowers were a little unrealistic. There were the easily identifiable figures of Logan, Storm, the Professor and other key figures of the school. She recognized herself by the reddish-brown hair, green eyes and golden cross on her chest.

"_Très jolie, petite_. Y' work reminds meh o' da work o' Cezanne."

"Who's Cezanne?"

She pulled the little girl into her lap so they could both examine the masterpiece of kindergarten art. "He was a vereh famous French painter. So famous dat his works're hung in some o' da best museums in da world."

"Have you ever seen one?"

"Sho', lots o' tahmes."

Brianna turned her huge dark eyes to the larger grey-green ones above her head. "Didja ever _steal_ one?"

The young woman let out a laugh and playfully squeezed the cheeky girl. "Dat, _ma chérie_, is classified info'mation."

A mock pout. "Will y' draw wit' us?"

Noelle winced. "Ah don' t'ink so, Bree." Her eyes wandered over to Vincent. The Assassin was twisting in his armchair, rotating his shoulders and occasionally arching his spine.

"Why don'cha ask Vincent? He a betteh artist den Ah am."

"Pleeeeeeaaaase!"

Though they undoubtedly had no idea what Brianna was begging for, the rest of the children took up the plea. "_PLEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAASE!"_

This woke Vincent up. "Who's torturin' da cats?"

"We don' got cats."

"You're changing the subject!" sang Allison, kneeling besides Noelle's chair.

"Ah hang y'all from da cliff," she warned.

"No you won't!" Fatima sang, bouncing up and down.

She closed her eyes. No she wouldn't.

A piece of blank paper was shoved into one hand while what felt suspiciously like a crayon was tucked into her other hand. Allison was treating Vincent to perfected puppy eyes, entreating him to join their little art club.

He lasted approximately seven seconds.

Noelle was more immune. "No, _mes petites_. Ah mean it."

"But you _never_ color with us!" whined Tony.

_Fo' good reason_, she thought sardonically.

"C'mon, T'ief girl," Vincent teased, already making preliminary lines on his paper.

Noelle groaned. "_D'accord, d'accord_, Ah know when Ah'm beat."

She slid from her chair to sprawl on the ground with her children and the young man beside her, who had already made significant progress in the depiction of a slick elegant falcon with bronze feathers streaked with the occasional bright white spot. He was seriously starting to piss her off.

About an hour later, the kids huddled around Vincent's drawing. The bird was soaring away from a deep dark pit, leading – or being chased by – a huge red dragon.

Noelle slipped her drawing away into her pocket. "Alrahght, _mes petites_, tahme t' go."

With much grumbling and whining, they got to their feet, clutching their drawings and made their way to their rooms before heading to dinner.

She was just about to follow them when something very unwelcome sounded. "What about yo' drawin'?"

"Unimportant." Nonchalant with a lazy wave of her hand.

"Den lemme see it."

"No." Harsher with a dagger courtesy of her eyes.

"C'mon…" he made a grab at her pocket.

"D'y' really t'ink y' c'n pickpocket a Master T'ief?" Amusement.

"Jus' show me!"

They were now engaged in a battle of keep-away, him groping for her pocket and she backing away and shielding the pocket with a hand.

She whirled around, hand darting out just in time to see her brother slip the drawing from her pocket. "Wha's dis we tryin' t' see?"

If Vincent hadn't grabbed her, she would've easily been able to get back the paper. Damn boys for ganging up on her.

But she was getting sloppy if – okay, she needed to relax. Her brother was a Master himself. That let her off the hook.

"_Mon Dieu, petite_," Lucien said in tones of deep pain. "T'ought we all agreed no mo' drawin'!"

"_Quoi?"_ Vincent reached for it and Noelle gave up.

"Ummmm… is dis supposed t' be a house?"

"T'ought it was a cloud, mahself."

Deep breaths. Losing her temper with these two idiots was not going to help matters. Mama and Daddy would be mad if she killed Lucien and she had a growing soft spot for Vincent. Besides, he was her teammate and she made a point not to maim or kill her teammates.

Hence Charlie Summers' continued health and existence.

Instead, she slipped Vincent's drawing away, stole her brother's keys (home, Institute, cars, and motorcycle) and walked dignifiedly away.

**And Noelle's deep dark secret is revealed. Surprised? I sure as hell was… my mind is truly strange. **

**Next week's chapter may be a little late. You have been warned. **

**REVIEW! Long reviews are the best.**

_**Ca va ?**_** – "Are you okay?"**

_**Sais pas…**_** - "I don't know"**

_**bête fil**_** – "stupid boy"**

_**Ca suffit**_** – "Enough!"**


	56. Chapter 56

**Due to my schedule, my updates're gonna be sporadic at best. I'll try and keep up with the once a week but I can't promise anything. Don't worry, as screwed up as it sounds, I write better during the school year so it should pick up then…**

**Anyway… enjoy!**

Chapter 55

James sat on the edge of the counter and dialed his parents. His sisters were sitting on the other end of the counter on the stools, munching on cookies.

"Speak and be recognized!"

Puffing out his skinny – lean, he insisted to anyone who would listen – chest, he intoned in the deepest voice he could summon, "It is I, Oh Master of the Flame!"

"Jim! Hey, Wanda-luv! It's Jim! How are you, mate?"

"Hi, Dad. I'm okay."

"And the sheilas?"

"Waiting right here to talk to you."

"It's after seven over there!" his mother's voice was speaking loudly from a short distance away from the phone on the other end of the line. "Are they eating sweets again?"

He glanced rather guiltily at the chocolate chip cookie pile that was rapidly disappearing in front of Saya and Fatima. "Noooo…"

A struggle, then a suspicious sounding crack, a yelp, and then his mother was snapping over the phone. "Are you lying to me, James Alexander Allerdyce?"

"No Mum…"

"What have I told you about-?"

"_'sSaya!"_

With speed his uncle Pietro would envy, the young man hastily tossed the phone to his Japanese sister and made his escape.

"Hey! No fair!"

Dodging from the kitchen and away from his angry mother (he wasn't entirely certain his mother couldn't hex him from England but he wasn't about to stick around and find out), he ran smack dab into Monica. The blonde stumbled slightly.

"Ah man, sorry, luv, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, I'm okay. So… I've got some news."

"Good or bad?"

"You'll have to decide. My brother's graduating from high school so my parents are coming down to see the ceremony."

James laughed nervously. "Um… are you saying that I'm going to have to meet your parents?"

"Yeah! Why? Is that a problem?"

"The last time your dad met my dad, my dad tried to… kind of, set your dad on fire. And since I'm now dating his daughter… I can only imagine how happy he's going to be."

"He doesn't… _hate_ you…"

"But he doesn't like me, does he?"

The blonde glanced around at the walls nervously. "He does ask me once in a while why I don't date an American boy."

"Just bloody fantastic, your father thinks I'm a wimpy Brit."

"He didn't say wimpy."

James scrubbed his hands through his already eccentric orange hair.

"What's the big deal?" Monica asked soothingly. "He was down here last year when Warren graduated."

"We weren't dating then, and besides, I don't think he looked twice at me. Can you imagine what he'll do to me?"

His girlfriend shifted. "Well, look at this way, if he does decide to do something, he'll probably hire someone to get rid of you."

"Great. So I can look forward to having that bugger Deadpool stab me in my sleep."

* * *

Vincent knelt on the floor in the library and squinted into the darkness under an armchair. No drawing.

It had only been after dinner that he had noticed his awesome dragon and falcon drawing had disappeared. It wasn't on any of the tables or under any of the furniture. He couldn't find it in the dining room or in his room.

Which meant that it had walked off – probably in the pocket of one of the younger children or older students – and that annoyed him. Pissed him off really.

"Is something the matter?" Sarah asked, appearing abruptly from behind a bookshelf.

Jumping, he spun around to scowl at the small girl. "Shit, _chère_, cain' y' make noise when y' walk?"

"That would defeat the purpose of spying."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "An' y' spyin' on me why?"

"You are the most interesting thing around here. Everyone is either flirting, watching TV, or sleeping. What are you doing?"

"I'm lookin' fo' da drawin' I made earlier t'day. Know I had it when I lef' here t' go t' dinner. I stuck it into my pocket an' now I cain' find it."

The look he was now receiving was extremely annoying; the girl was giving him the kind of look you gave to a sad, retarded child.

"Wha's wit' dat look?"

"So. A drawing vanished from your pocket in a small crowd – made of at least (correct me if I'm wrong) two Thieves – and you are searching under armchairs. Interesting."

He stood up so fast Sarah took a step back. "Y' saw one o' dem take it?"

She gave him an enigmatic smirk. "Ask Noelle."

* * *

Noelle lay sprawled on her bed with her younger sister, comparing her drawing with Vincent's. It was like comparing Leonardo da Vinci to a blind Rorschach artist.

Even in crayon, the feathers of the bird and the scales of the dragon in Vincent's drawing were incredibly well depicted. You could even see the wild spark of in the falcon's bright eyes (how had he managed to make that color with crayon?) and the gleam of white fangs in the dragon's maw. The details were admittedly not the best, but it was still far better than anything she had ever seen.

Especially compared with her drawing.

Fully aware of her own extreme lack of any artistic abilities whatsoever, she had tried something very simple: a green hill with a tree at the top. Blue sky surrounded everything above the ground and a sun and few clouds sat at the top, with a few V-shapes for birds.

It had come out looking like a lopsided turtle mutant with a weird growth on its shell, in water with discarded bits of garbage floating about. And that was only if you tilted your head to the right and squinted.

Tilting to the left and squinting revealed what looked like a kaleidoscope designed by someone high on E.

"Wow," Claire said at last. "Dis is real bad. An' Ah mean real, _real_, bad."

"_Merci_, Claire," Noelle drawled sarcastically. "Dat's real nahce t' hear."

"Dis is worse dan usual… Why'd y' do it at all? Y' know y' cain' draw. O' sculpt. O' paint. Maman say y' couldn' even fingerpaint."

"Which is why Ah was always failin' Art."

"Y' cain' fail Art. All y' gotta do is draw somet'in' dat ain' inappropriate an' y' get an A."

"Oh, y' be surprised, _petite_."

"Vincent's realleh good."

"Yeah he is."

"Why'd y' take his picture?"

"Ah wan'ed it."

"Okay. Y' t'ink he gon' come an' get it?"

"Prob'ly. Sarah's pissed at meh 'cause Ah moved her plant int' a place wit' betteh lahght."

Claire frowned. Her white bangs were hanging in front of her grey-green eyes. "Why'd she be mad 'bout a t'ing lahke dat?"

"'Cause she didn' t'ink o' it herself."

"So what're y' gon' do?"

"Ah'm gon' kick y' outta mah room."

"Wha? Why?"

"'Cause as an oldeh sisteh, i's mah rahght t' banish y' from mah room. Ah onleh been doin' it fo' de pas' twelve years."

Scowling (intensifying her uncanny resemblance to their mother) the younger girl rolled off the bed, pulled her gloves straight and stalked from the room with her nose in the air.

Noelle grinned.

Next victim…

Not twenty minutes later she was smiling at her closed and locked door as Vincent ranted at her from the other side.

"Damn it, Noelle, jus' 'cause I laughed at y' stupid drawin' don' mean y' c'n steal mine!"

"Ah t'ink y' fahnd dat Ah can, an' Ah have."

"_Remettre-le!"_

"Bein' rude ain' gon' help. 'Sahdes, why should Ah? Ah lahke dis drawin'."

She enjoyed the sounds of him making the effort to calm down. There was a long moment of deep breathing before she heard him say, "Look, I'm sorry dat I laughed at y' drawin', _d'accord_? But I really wan' dat drawin' back… I like da way it came out."

"So do Ah, dat's why Ah ain' givin' it up."

"Jus' 'cause I can draw an' you cain' draw f' shit don' mean… _bordel!_ I didn' mean dat!"

Her cheeks burned and she crumpled her pathetic drawing in a fist. "Yeah y' did. An' Ah'm well aware Ah cain' draw. But dat ain' why Ah took y' drawin'."

"Den why?"

"Maybe y' ain' got de whole concept o' bein' a T'ief. When Ah see somet'in' Ah wan' Ah take it. If Ah c'n get mah hands on it an' get back t' mah place 'thout gettin' caught den Ah've earned an' i's mahne."

"But it ain' yo's an' if y' don' give it back t' _moi,_ I'm gon'…"

"Do what? Try an' steal it back?"

"I could tell –"

She laughed. Seriously? "Y' tellin' on meh? What're we, in elemen'ary school? Y' gon' pull mah pigtails an' push meh in da mud next?"

He let out a wail of exasperation.

"Ah ain' makin' y' angry am Ah?"

"Da's why y' steal art, ain' it?"

Noelle cocked her head at the door. "Ah love art. Since Ah got no talent fo' it, gotta get from somewhere."

She glanced at the posters. The works of her favorite artists – she had an especial love for the work of classical Greek and Rome, Renaissance, and Impressionists – surrounded her in the blazes of color from the paintings and the muted white of marble statues.

She loved them all.

Jewels were nice and sparkly – but given the choice between the gems of the National Museum of Natural History and the paintings of National Art Museum, she knew which one she was picking.

"Ah!"

"Wha's wrong, 'Ssassin? Step on somet'in'?"

Vincent spoke as though he couldn't get the words of his mouth fast enough. "What if I give y' a paintin'? I make it jus' like da drawin'. Dat would be better, wouldn' it?"

Standing up, she flicked her bangs out of face even as she blinked at the door. "_Mon Dieu, garçon_. I's jus' a drawin'. Pull y'self t'get'er an' take da damn t'ing."

She was just about to open the door and hand it back to him when she paused just a moment to consider…

Yeah, this was going to be hilarious.

Alright… so maybe she had opened the door too quickly, because Vincent (apparently his reflexes were not as good as he made them out to be) came stumbling into her room, his arms windmilling for balance. He ended up faceplanting on Sarah's bed with Noelle laughing her ass off.

"_D'accord_," she said, wiping her eyes. "Ah accept y' offer. Ah'll give y' da drawin' an' y' give meh a paintin' jus' lahke it at da end o' de year."

"Deal."

She handed him the dragon and falcon drawing. "Why y' wan' it back so bad?"

He shifted and she sensed embarrassment, and little defiance, "My art teacher say i's good t' keep da firs' draft o' yo' nex' piece. Good luck an' all dat."

She would spend the next few hours wondering what possessed her to tilt her head to one side, wink at him, give him a real smile – not the 'I'm in trouble and I don't care' smile or the 'I've a plan that'll knock you on your ass' smile – this was a genuine, happy, smile. "_Bonne chance._ If y' try an' renege on da deal Ah sic Wolverine on y'."

* * *

Monday came far too quickly, along with school and a copperhead named Charlie.

It turned out the young X-Man leader had not been accepted into Dartmouth, Cornell, John Hopkins, or Colombia. His options were still highly respectable: Georgetown, Notre Dame, University of Virginia, and NYU, but the fact that he had been rejected rankled.

So he took it out on his teammates the next Danger Room session. In revenge Noelle came up with the idea to spike his coffee with laxatives with entertaining results.

Meanwhile, Eddie bought the entire Institute delivery pizza (how the pizza guy fit in his car with almost thirty pizzas riding shotgun was a mystery) after he found out he'd been accepted into the University of Pennsylvania. It was, he told anyone who would listen, the best school in the country for business majors.

Alexei had been accepted into NYU and whistled incessantly, but joyfully.

On April 17, Lucien's birthday lunch was topped off when the mail came in and Mr. McCoy handed the Southerner the thick acceptance letter from San Francisco University. Lucien nearly knocked down the nearly completed front porch when he whooped and punched the air triumphantly. He was later to be seen kissing Sofy senseless over by the rose garden.

However, though the college frontier looked fairly bright, the high school situation was decidedly glum. None of the teachers were at all happy that the X kids had lost two weeks of precious studying time. Mr. Cox, the AP US History teacher talked them through the Cold War so fast, half the class was sure he had said, "Stalin… Kennedy… tore down… the Vietnam… Iron Curtain…" The Calculus teacher sprinted across the board, throwing up equations as fast as the students could copy them. Chemistry class had to stop when one of the girls freaked out in the middle of a review, crying and sobbing that she was too stupid to understand thermal energy.

The library of the Xavier Institute was occupied until past midnight by frantic students. Beast and the other instructors took to staying up with their charges to help them study.

* * *

It was, however, only a couple weeks later at the very end of April that the next important letter came.

Vincent was in English working on a character outline of Celie in Alice Walker's _The Color Purple_ (he imagined tying Mr. in chains and tossing him off the cliff, then wondered if that was normal), when the loudspeaker came on. "Will Vincent Boudreaux please report to the Main Office?"

Even as twinge of annoyance ran through him since they had failed to pronounce his name correctly, he blinked and traded blank looks with James. The Brit looked just as nonplussed as he was, shrugging.

Even in the aftermath of his father bursting in and announcing his paternity to the whole of the X-Men, his roommate didn't much seem to care.

"Mate," he had laughed when Vincent had asked him if it bothered him. "Me dad's a convicted arsonist – legally psychotic – and me mum's considered a sociopathic witch-freak. The way I see it, we were meant to be friends. Can't get much crazier than us; by rights we should be straightjacketed to a wall somewhere plotting to blow up the world!"

He had never met anyone quite like James – he supposed that was why they were best friends.

"You didn't punch out that guy trying to touch your motorbike, did you?"

"_Ouais_, but he know better den t' squeal."

"Vincent? You may pack up your things and go." His teacher raised a threatening finger. "But if I find that you use this as an excuse to ditch my class, you will be sorry!"

He was still chuckling as he left the classroom.

The Main Office was mostly empty, except for the cheerful elderly secretary who winked at him as he entered, Miss Fiennes (looking as artsy crazy as ever with paint brushes in her bun like chopsticks and a kimono) and Principal Kelly.

Vincent had never actually met the good Principal. Now, seeing the tall, slim man with his steel grey hair and his sharp, cold eyes, he was quite pleased that he had never had to go near the man before this.

"_Bonjour, Mam'selle_," he said as he always did when meeting his favorite teacher. "_Monsieur._"

Miss Fiennes nodded at him, a nervous and hopeful smile twisting at her lips.

"Mr. Boudreaux."

At the disdainful and thinly disguised hatred in the older man's voice and face, Vincent's hackles rose and his fingers twitched in the direction of his concealed knife.

"It seems that you have received a letter from the L.H. Howard Art Competition committee. And since you did enter, Miss Fiennes felt it would be a good idea to let you open it." Kelly gave the teacher a disapproving glare.

The art teacher ignored him and handed Vincent a thick white envelope. "Go on… open it!"

He considered using his knife just to annoy Kelly but decided against it – no point in almost being expelled so close to the end of the year. He ripped it open and pulled out the first piece of paper. Very high quality paper.

_Dear Mr. Vincent Julian Boudreaux,_

_On behalf of the L.H. Howard Committee for Young Artists, I would like to congratulate you on winning first place in the 2010 L.H. Howard Art Competition. Your painting La Nike del océan exemplified the spirit of our competition and signifies all that we hope to encourage in the future generations of artists. _

_In honor of this great achievement, we offer you the L.H. Howard Art Scholarship in the amount of $10,000 in the pursuit of what we hope will be your continuing art education in your coming years at the college or university of your choice. Also, we will be displaying your artwork at the Metropolitan Museum from May 14__th__ to July 30__th__. _

_Enclosed are a dozen tickets as well as one for yourself so that you and your family and friends may attend on opening night. The exhibition will include other works from our top winners with yours at the center. _

_The opening ceremony begins at 7 o' clock on May 14__th__…_

"Well?" Kelly demanded sharply.

His mouth dry with shock, Vincent looked up. "I won."

The look on his Principal's face could not have been any more different than his art teacher's. Kelly looked like he had swallowed a lemon with a side of thundercloud. Miss Fiennes clapped her hands and exclaimed joyfully.

"Congratulations! Oh, well done Vincent! We'll have to make an announcement in the school newspaper and goodness knows we should get a picture of your piece to hang somewhere and –"

"Just a moment, Erin," Kelly said with maddening superiority. "Before any such things can be done we have to make sure everything was done fairly and legitimately."

"What do you mean?"

Yeah, what did the ass mean?

The man fixed him with a dark look of incredible dislike. "Are we absolutely sure that Mr. Boudreaux earned and deserved this award?"

"Mr. Boudreaux c'n hear y', Monsieur," Vincent growled. "Now what're y' sayin'? Dey seem t' t'ink I deserved it."

"Did you use your powers?" Kelly eyed with a fanatic sort of intensity, practically willing him to say yes.

But Vincent was good at pissing people off – he had already decided he got it from his father. "Nope."

"Lying to me is grounds for detention!"

"Good t'ing I ain' lyin' den. I didn' use my powers."

The steel grey eyes became slits. "And what exactly are your _powers_?"

He spat out 'powers' like it was a filthy word.

"Not dat i's any o' yo' bus'ness but I manipulate da gravitational forces 'tween bodies o' mass."

It was obvious that the man had no idea what that meant but was not about to admit it. "I see. And these powers did not help you in any way? Because if they did, that puts you at an unfair advantage and –"

"Good t'ing I didn'. Won fair an' square. Can I go now? Got English."

The bell rang and the sound of a couple thousand pairs of feet hurrying about filled the hallways.

"My fault. Now I got Gym. If we done here?"

"I will be informing the committee about this and –"

"Principal Kelly," snapped Miss Fiennes, who seemed to have gotten over her shock of hearing her principal basically interrogate a student on unfounded suspicions. "The committee is well aware of Vincent's abilities, both his artistic ones and his more… unusual ones. We made certain that they were informed so that situations like this couldn't happen! They found no reason to withhold his prize and I see no reason for you to try and discriminate against him!"

Her raised tones had attracted a crowd, including Sofy and Julia.

Kelly huffed and straightened his neatly pressed sports jacket. "There is no need for you to take that tone with me, Miss Fiennes. I am only looking out for everyone's best interest."

"Like you did as a senator?" called a mocking voice from the crowd.

There was a wave of derisive laughter and the principal turned an unattractive red.

"GET TO CLASS!"

He turned back to Vincent, practically spitting in fury. "We both know your kind shouldn't be allowed anywhere near normal people!"

Vincent arched an eyebrow. "Dat's why I'm standin' nex' t' you. Oh, beg y' pardon, Miz Fiennes, didn' see yo' no'mal self dere."

"OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

That man was not only a bastard, mused Vincent as he doggedly ran laps around the lap twenty minutes later, but he also had a serious anger management problem.

_**Remettre-le!**_** – "Hand it over!"**

_**Mon Dieu, garçon**_** – "My God, boy"**

**Action'll be picking up next chapter. Review and give me some ideas for prom night and the AP exams.**


	57. Chapter 57

**Okay… so this is all filler with some interesting little tidbits here and there…**

**In this world they have two weeks of AP exams before the art exhibit and then one more week before the prom. That's when things will really start getting interesting.**

**And you all'll need to hold on to your asses when graduation rolls around.**

Chapter 56

In hindsight, perhaps telling Julia about Vincent winning the competition was not the greatest idea. At least not when you were sitting next to her in the close confines of a pickup truck.

But that was why it was called hindsight, if it had been foresight then Alexei would not be trying to drive with a shattered ear drum.

"Julia, it is alright… there is no reason to scream."

"Are you kidding? These aren't, like, screams of fear or anything! They are totally screams of happiness! Can't you tell? Oh my God! Oh my God! OH MY GOD! He won! I can't believe it! This is totally cause for a party! Do you think the Professor would spring for Pizza Hut?"

"Damn…" groaned James from the backseat. "Can't you wait until we're at the Institute to wonder about this, Jules?"

A hint of amusement that might have once been annoyance ran through Alexei's heart at the nickname James had let slip. For all his gentleness and good nature, Alexei Rasputin was a very jealous man when it came to his girlfriends. He didn't share. Any sign of any cheating and he dropped the relationship if he didn't get a very convincing apology.

But he also had no problem with his girlfriends having friends. Especially not Julia – he wanted only for her to stay with him and be happy.

If only her shriek of happiness wasn't so high pitched!

It might have been worth it if Vincent had been here to blush and squirm unhappily as Julia squealed and screeched her congratulations. But he was out in the sunshine, gliding and weaving through traffic on his enviable motorcycle, trying to keep up with Noelle and Lucien.

Luke.

His best friend.

His best friend who was not only dating his sister, but also taking her home. On his motorcycle.

Sofy could take care of herself, he reminded himself sternly. You are brooding again.

"Ummm… Alex…?"

"Yes, Julie?"

"The speed limit here's thirty-five."

He blinked around at her then glanced at his speedometer.

And cursed.

Fifty-three.

"My super special psychic powers tell me that he is fretting on something," Vassily deadpanned from the backseat.

"I do not fret."

"Sorry for the base betrayal, mate, but yes you do."

Gripping the steering wheel made it bend and make protesting creaks so Alexei settled for grinding his teeth.

A small, delicate hand settled on his and he could sense Julia smiling at him. "The fretting makes you cute and when you do something about the fretting you're really hot."

Well, he thought in satisfaction, ignoring the ill-disguised gagging of Vassily and James. That definitely changed things.

* * *

Noelle peered into the oven, gauging how much longer the cake she was baking had left. It was a beautifully swollen circle of dark brown.

Done.

Whistling smartly, she opened the oven, whipped the cake out and kicked the door shut.

"OOOOOO…" came a familiar male voice.

It really was amazing. Give Vincent a knife and point him at something and he was one of the fiercest, deadliest Assassins in the world. Put a piece of chocolate cake in front of him and he was an overgrown five-year-old with an equally too-big sweet tooth.

"'S dat fo' me?"

"Actualleh, dis f' all o' us."

The man actually pouted.

She laughed. _"Ne faites pas l'enfant."_

He pouted more.

She turned her back on him and poured more cocoa into the bowl of sugar. It was as she turned to measure out butter that a powerful, warm body came up behind her. Focusing fiercely on her hands, she creamed the butter with powerful flicks of her wrist – she didn't deign to the level of electric mixers, they were for the weak of heart and arm – and carefully combined the butter with the cocoa and sugar.

Noelle LeBeau was not going to act like an idiot just because a guy (and she knew exactly which guy this was) with a very nice body came up behind her.

"Wha's dat?" he asked, peering over her shoulder.

She could feel his breath on her skin – she could feel his contentment, his fierce longing for the huge cake that was cooling on the counter not so far away… and there was something else… nervousness, excitement, and a longing, a longing that –

Biting her tongue hard enough to draw blood, Noelle firmly shut out the teenage girl side of herself and brought out the Thief – the girl who had earned her Master's Mark at an unprecedented age with a wild, reckless, but brilliant series of heists. She brought out Kestrel – the girl who had entered the Institute at the age of twelve and had put on a team by her first week.

A subtle needle of pain slipped into the very center of her brain.

"Dat is yo' manhood gettin' i'self cut off if y' don' mahnd y' mannehs."

Vincent backed off quick. _"Désolé."_

She rolled her eyes at him. "F' God's sake, Vince, waitin' f' dinneh ain' gon' kill y'."

"An' if it does?"

"Den Ah will take dat as y' breakin' yo' word an' takin' all yo' possessions as recompense. An' Ah get yo' slice."

"_Au dessus mon cadavre!"_

"Dat's de idea. Now help o' get outta de way."

He took a seat at the counter and watched her as she whipped the frosting in a light, creamy texture.

"Y' ready f' dose tests?"

Noelle winced slightly. The AP tests were next week, which gave every student taking them today (Wednesday), and up until Monday at 8AM to study. "Now why y' gotta bring dose up?"

"Y' did good de las' year. Unless y' freak out an' –"

"Shouldn' y be studyin' f' yo' French Exam?"

He scoffed. _"Est-ce que j'ai l'air de quelqu'un qui avait besoin de étudier?"_

She shot him an annoyed glance. "Get lost. Y' annoyin' meh."

"Wha's wrong wit'choo t'day?"

Pulling her most pathetic look, she gave him the full effect of her sad eyes. "Mah wall's got a big empty spot where dere should be a crayon drawin'."

Vincent winced but plowed on. "Anyways, de reason I'm here is dat… I'd look pretty stupid goin' t' dis t'ing at da Met alone. Since y' goin' anyways… would y' deign t' comin' on my arm?"

And she certainly didn't blush a shade of a shade redder, no she did not. And her mind was not still and silent. And her tongue had damn well not tied itself into knots.

Damn it.

Thank God for an auto-pilot snarking system. "Will y' wash it first?"

It was only after he was gone did she realize that the Assassin had set her heart to pounding and her thoughts racing.

Not good, she thought darkly, reaching inside herself and analyzing her feelings. Yup. Not good at all.

And now she was getting a headache. Fan-freaking-tastic.

* * *

Monica sneaked out of the rec room with most of the others as Julia squealed and shrieked in delight. From what she had been able to decipher from the other girl's very high pitched cries (Monica was fairly sure that there were bats with lower frequency voices than Julia), Alexei had asked her to the prom.

Ah, the prom. The great mating ritual of high school.

The last few days had been punctuated by the handful of senior boys – they only had boys graduating this year – asking girls out.

Lucien and Sofy were going; this surprised no one.

As of tonight Alexei and Julia were going together – again the only surprise had been that the Russian had waited so long to ask.

Her brother Edward had somehow managed to dreg up the courage to ask out Kelsey Crisp. He'd been taken with the wild girl ever since he had seen her dance on the cruise.

Charles was going with Alana. Monica was still wondering how Alana put up with the prissy leader.

The quickly advancing date of the prom only added stress because those going had to, not only study for imminent AP Exams and the end of year exams, but also find the perfect dress and matching shoes and purse. And on a lesser note, a matching tux for her date.

"Monica! _Dis!_ Wait up!"

Turning at the sound of her name, she saw Noelle jogging towards her.

"Hey, Noelle, shouldn't you be studying?"

The Southerner glared at her darkly. "Don' be mentionin' dat. James is eyein' da Red Bulls an' Monsters again."

Oh God. "After what happened last year? Is he crazy? We still haven't gotten the scorch marks off the ceiling!"

A toss of bangs. "Don' look at _moi._ Talk t' y' _petit ami_."

"I plan to. Was that what you wanted to tell me?"

"_Non, non_. Da _Professeur_ wan's t' see us in his office."

Monica frowned. "What for?"

"Not a clue."

When the two girls got to Xavier's office, they found it already occupied. James sulked in one of the chairs in front of the Prof's desk while Vincent poured cans of energy cans (everything from Red Bull to Rockstar) out of a nearby window. Sarah and Jayden looked on with interest.

"Mah Lord, James, how much o' dat crap did y' buy?"

"Don' much matter now, does it, _mon ami_?" Vincent quipped, crumpling a Monster can and tossing it onto the huge pile beside him.

"I hope we don't end up drugging the earthworms," Sarah muttered.

"What're they going to do? Make the little guys work faster?"

The clawed mutant gave Jayden a dark glare. "For all you know that could be toxic not only to the worms, but also to the plants. Or my roses."

Jayden seemed to crumple in on himself.

Chuckling to herself, Monica shook her head before turning her full attention to the Professor. The elderly man seemed not a little amused by what he was seeing in front of him.

"Alright, now if I could have your attention please. Thank you. Now, as you all are undoubtedly aware, prom night is fast approaching."

"Out with the condoms!"

"Thank you James," Xavier said reprovingly. "It has been brought to my attention that one of the younger children, Brianna, will be turning eight on that weekend. She has asked to be taken to see a Broadway musical."

There was a wave of confusion – what did this have to do with them?

"I think this would be a good opportunity for the younger students to get out of the Institute and experience a bit of culture."

"Ah..." Noelle said with the air of one who has just understood something. "Y' need babysitters."

The telepath shifted slightly. "I only ask because Storm will be the only other chaperone, as Mr. and Mrs. Drake as well as Logan will be chaperoning at the prom…"

"How did you convince Kelly to agree to that?" Sarah wondered.

Monica knew the answer to that. "He was actually threatening to ban us all from prom – he's been pretty anti-mutant lately – but my dad's lawyers called and accused him of prejudice. In the end the school board agreed to let us come if they came as chaperones."

"It must be nice to have a dad with that much clout."

"Beast would prefer not to go and neither Sage nor Bishop will go."

"What about Miss Laura and her husband?"

"It's their anniversary," Sarah explained. She shuddered a bit. "They'll want to go out to dinner – my dad at least – then come back and… ugh… I'll go!"

"Don' wan' be in de same house while dey…?"

"No, I don't!"

Noelle laughed. "I go – what're we seein'?"

"The Lion King."

"OOOOO! I love that one!" And she did. Her parents had taken her to see it when she was five years old and instantly fallen in love. She had seen it almost forty times. "I'm going too!"

James bit his lip. "Weeeeeeeelllll… I've never seen a – _gulp_ – musical before…"

Monica beamed at him.

Vincent hmmmed. "Ain' ever seen one eit'er. It any good?"

Noelle grinned. "I saw Wicked las' year. It was incredible. T'ough dat Glinda coulda used a betteh means o' transportation."

"So it was good?"

"Was incredible not a good 'nuff adjective?"

It was as Vincent was shooting Noelle a glare that she rolled her eyes at that Monica saw it. It was subtle and well hidden – which meant they were both aware of it (partly anyways) and thus endeavoring to hide it – but at that one moment it was as obvious as a laser pointer at a funeral.

Vincent was in love with Noelle. And Noelle was in love with Vincent. And judging by their actions, Monica was willing to bet her enormous trust fund that neither was aware that the other had similar feelings. Which was more than a little scary considering Noelle was an empath capable of driving an entire county insane, and even without them she was known to spot two lovers even when they were on opposite sides of a room.

Smiling to herself, she watched as Vincent agreed to go, now scowling.

"Okay, okay! You don't have to gang up on me! I'll go! I'll go!" Jayden groaned.

The Professor sighed and smiled. "Thank you. We'll discuss times and places closer to the exact time. I'll let you return to your studies."

"Did he have to mention studying?" James complained as they left.

"Studying isn't all that bad…" Monica purred, sliding her arms around her boyfriend's shoulders and nuzzling his neck. "We can do it together…"

Noelle watched this display with detached amusement before going off, calling behind her, "Use a condom. Dose books an' notes c'n get messy."

Vincent, Sarah, and Jayden exploded into laughter as Monica and James both turned scarlet in embarrassment.

* * *

Mr. Cox looked like hell. His usually neatly pressed dress shirt and pants were crumpled and there were sweat stains under his arm. His tie, which was usually impeccably coordinated, (Mr. Cox admitted that his wife helped him pick out his clothes every morning) was as bright orange as his shirt was pale lavender. He was a fashion disaster.

"Name a president who came to prominence as a war time general before he was elected!"

"Ummm… George Washington…?"

"Correct. Name the four rights of the First Amendment."

Vincent took a stab at it. "Uhhh… religion, freedom o' speech, bearin' arms an'… peaceful assembly?"

"Good. Now –"

It went on like that for the rest of the period, Mr. Cox shooting questions off even as he sweated through his shirt. By the end of it, Vincent was trading alarmed glances with Noelle (Mr. Cox didn't believe in people switching seats so he had been stuck – with slowly decreasing amounts of reluctance – with Noelle for the whole year) and wondering if he was going to have to call in the guys in the white coats.

_Is he okay? _He scribbled down on his notes.

Noelle glanced down and picked up her pen. _No. I'm debating whether to calm him down or not. _

_You should. If he keeps going on like this he's going to pass out._

_Yeah, but there is the IIC reaction._

_The what?_

_IIC. Y'know… Idiots in Class._

_Ah. What could they do?_

_Let's start with how they could get me expelled and exempt me from the AP Exam. And we could end with how I could seriously injure Mr. Cox._

_Okay, number one, they wouldn't dare trying to pin something on you so soon after the prom thing. Number two, they can't kick you out of the exam after you've paid for them. And third, you wouldn't hurt him._

_Alright. Hold on. _

He watched as his friend stilled and her eyes focused on the ranting Mr. Cox. There was a wave more subtle than the lightest breath of wind and he couldn't help but extend a hand to touch it. Noelle's eyes darted to his and a tiny hint of deep calm whispered across his brain.

Smiling sheepishly, Vincent withdrew and redirected his look to their hysterical teacher.

"Name highlights of the 1920s and –" Mr. Cox stopped talking. He blinked several times, took several deep breaths, and wiped a bit of sweat off his brow. "Alright class, listen up. The AP Exams are tough, no use denying that. But they have been conquered with 5s. Just remember to study, don't panic, and bring plenty of pencils. And don't forget the book of stickers. Now, are there any questions?"

The last fifteen minutes of class were spent with questions like: "Why can't we at least leave our phones on vibrate during the test?"

Glancing back at Noelle, Vincent was surprised to see her head on her arms. "S'matter?"

Before she could answer, the bell rang and the class hurried out, muttering nervously about the upcoming exam. And just like that Vincent was alone with the creepily calm Mr. Cox.

Groaning, he got up to leave.

"Mr. Boudreaux?"

"Yeah?"

The short man gave a crooked smile. "Kindly give my thanks to Ms. LeBeau, but make sure she knows that using her powers is strictly prohibited. Good thing I've got no proof."

Vincent grinned. Mr. Cox was probably one of the only teachers who didn't much about X-genes. "Y' got it."

"Good luck on the AP Exams. Don't cram."

* * *

Noelle laid her head on her arms and sighed.

Mr. Gibbons, her AP Psych teacher treated her to an especially dark look. He was one of the many teachers who trumpeted equal rights for humans and mutants right up until they got face to face with a mutant. He was especially against her and Charles Summers because their powers could interfere with the human mind. And Professor Xavier might as well have had horns, cloven feet and an arrow-tipped tail with his ability to completely disrupt the workings of the human mind.

"Nice of you to join us, Miss LeBeau."

Normally, she would have arched an eyebrow and given him her best 'you're an idiot of such epic proportions that you aren't even worth a full glare' look. But normally she wouldn't have had a headache pounding in away in her skull.

"Nice f' y' maybe. Now stop starin' down mah shirt."

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG.

She ended up sitting in the chair in front of Principal Kelly's office. Every throb of her head coincided perfectly with her heart.

"I can't say I'm surprised to see you sitting in the chair…"

Noelle imagined punching out the self-righteous prick, smashing through his window and flying off towards the horizon.

Blah, blah, blah, droned Kelly's voice as she dreamed of the first pinpricks of stars in the deepening blue of the evening sky. The way the sun sank magnificently over the ocean, the golden light of the setting sun faded bled into pale pink then soft lavender and finally the darkness of the night sky, the whole scene sprinkled with pink clouds outlined in purple.

She could see the open sea pulling and pushing at the sands on the beach. The tides stretched all the way to the horizon.

Never had the flat line at the end of the world looked so appealing. She had dreamed of flying away to touch the very point where the sky kissed the ground since before she had ever understood what a mutant was.

Back when her mother had still been singing her and her siblings to sleep…

"…after all, your mother was quite a thorn in my side with that selfish, self-absorbed attitude of hers. I can remember her right where you're sitting with that disgusting defiant expression all over her face – thinking she had it so much worse than anyone else. She didn't care about the pain she caused others –"

Her fists clenched; her mother, Rogue, had told them all about her lifelong struggle with her terrible powers. How she had gone without actual human contact for years before finally gaining control when she was almost twenty years old. Six years without properly touching another living person. And every wakening moment spent protecting others from herself with layers and layers of clothing.

She clasped her hands in her lap and sat very straight, staring clear past the ignorant bastard babbling away as if he had a clue what her mother had gone through – what Claire was going through right now.

"Principal Kelly. As rivetin' as yo' little speech is, Ah got studyin' t' do."

The man turned an unattractive shade of red. "And why should I let you go? You are a danger to this –"

"If Ah'm such a dangeh, why're y' sittin' in dis room alone wit' meh? But t' answeh y' question: y' makin' mah head hurt wit' all y' dark emotions."

She actually couldn't feel any of his emotions – her walls were too strong for that (she always strengthened her defenses before final exams) – but the headache was still there pounding away. It had actually eased somewhat.

Talking to Kelly wasn't exactly soothing to the nerves unfortunately.

Watching the man scramble for something to say, however, was quite amusing and she was able to leave almost immediately.

Ah, being the daughter of a conman was such a blessing sometimes.

**Review! Get me to 500 reviews! YOU CAN DO IT! And I still need prom ideas!**

"_**Ne faites pas l'enfant."**_** – "Act your age."**

"_**Au dessus mon cadavre!"**_** – "Over my dead body!"**

"_**Es**__**t-ce que j'ai l'air de quelqu'un qui avait besoin de étudier?"**_** – "Do I sound like someone who needs to study?"**

"_**Dis!**__**" **_**– "Hey!"**

_**petit ami **__**– **_**"boyfriend"**


	58. Chapter 58

**Yes, I am alive. And suffering insane professors – what sadist comes in on the first day and assigns you to write a proposal for a psychological experiment in two days? And oh, let's not forget the reading you have to do for his class or the homeworks. Joy. **

**And there are four other classes to worry about…**

**But yeah…**

**And hey, I've got a poll up for votes on what to name Bishop and Sage's kid – just head over to my page and put in your votes!**

Chapter 57

Time: Sunday – 11:56 PM.

Location: the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters – library.

The situation: cramming for the AP exams.

The library was packed.

Tomorrow was the AP Government and AP French exams. Next to the fireplace Alexei Rasputin and Kelsey Crisp were reviewing French vocab and conjugations under the supervision of the fully fluent Vincent (who had taken the AP class because he and the Professor had figured it would be an easy class for him – it was). Tucked away in a back corner, Lucien, Charles Summers, and Edward Worthington were reciting the Amendments of the Constitutions and key Supreme Court cases.

In another part of the library, Noelle, Monica, James, and Sofy were studying for their coming AP Stats exam. Alana was desperately trying to memorize the order of the presidents (she kept screwing up after the Civil War era).

"Okay…" Monica said. "Well, I think I've got Z scores down. And everything is just building off of that so I'm good."

"I will be alright," Sofy agreed.

James grimaced. "How can you sheilas be so calm? This is torture."

"Math's _très facile_."

The Brit looked faintly nauseated. "Noelle, you are absobloodylutely balmy! Why would you say that?"

Noelle closed her math book with a shrug. "Ah don' mind math so much. I's de same everywhere."

Even Sofya looked perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"MMMMM… Alors, take history. Y' ain' gon' fahnd one school in Atlanta dat ain' gon' paint Sherman as a murderin', arsonistic bastard."

"Is arsonistic even a word?"

"Y' missin' mah point. In Philadelphia Sherman's a hero. Different viewpoints make da same history different, _vous comprendrez_?"

"Yeah…"

"But it don' matteh wit' math. I's da same from New York, t' N'Awlins, t' Germany, Africa, an' China. No matteh where y' go two an' two always gon' equal four."

There was a moment of deep, contemplative silence.

"You are mental, luv."

"_Merci_. Now shut up."

* * *

Vincent stared at his plate of eggs, for once completely and utterly without appetite. Call the papers.

It was Monday. Three hours until his French Exam.

He felt sick, nervous, and irritated.

Why was he so anxious? French was as much his first language as English was. He could speak it perfectly – admittedly with a heavy Cajun accent – but his writing couldn't be told apart from a Frenchman's.

But he was still jittery… and so was Kelsey.

The Institute was tomb-silent with everyone else at school.

During the two weeks of AP exams, students were excused from all regular classes on the days they had exams. So he and the others taking the AP French exam had been free to sleep in, which was fortunate because they had been up 'til past three AM. Lucien and the others who were taking the AP exams were stuck in the gym of Bayville High working on the test. Right after they were finished with their exam (it had started at _shudder_ 8AM) they were free to come home and crash – or study.

Vincent felt a great stab of sympathy for poor Alexei who was scheduled for two exams in one day. Government and then French, poor guy.

What was there even to know about government? You voted, people got elected, and then they screwed everything up. Simple.

He took a bite of scrambled eggs. His stomach curdled.

"T'ink I'm done."

Kelsey looked more nervous than he had ever seen her. "Quiz me."

He arched an eyebrow at her skimpy Hello Kitty pajamas. "Ain'cha y' wanna get dressed?"

"Screw getting dressed! Quiz me!"

"_D'accord_… Translate…"

By the end of an hour, Kelsey had fried the toaster, the coffee machine and the can opener and gotten them evicted from the kitchen by a fuming Wolverine. Not that the lightning shooting mutant girl had cared, she was still freaking out that she had forgotten the words for 'friendship' and 'sky'.

He closed the door on her frantic chant of 'Oh my God I'm gonna fail Oh my God I'm gonna fail Oh my God I'm gonna –' as he went to take a shower.

It didn't take long to come out in a pair of dark jeans, a plain red T-shirt, a black zip-up hoodie and his combat boots. Just for luck he dug out the best of the knives Noelle had given him for Christmas. It fit just right on his bicep on the knife strap he gotten on his birthday, hidden beneath a sleeve.

It would do absolutely squat for him in the testing area but it was a comfort to him all the same.

Miss Laura and Jubilee were dragging Kelsey into her room for a shower as he hustled down the stairs with his light messenger bag. If felt strange to not have it weighed down by half a dozen textbooks and binders, almost like missing a crucial limb.

But all too soon he was climbing into the Laura's SUV (she threatened disembowelment if he put a scratch on it) with Kelsey, now showered and much more calm.

_Du calme_, he kept telling himself. Y' been speakin' French all y' life. Jus' relax… Y' be fine…

And if the school thing didn't work out, he could always put on a red mask and join his father massacring Russian spies.

* * *

Eleven days later, there was an atmosphere of deep calm over the entire house. It was Friday afternoon, the last of the AP exams were over with.

Vincent couldn't believe it; those two weeks had seemed the longest of his life – not counting the time his mother drove him out into the middle of the deepest, darkest, part of the bayou, and left him there for survival training. Well, at least now he knew why that cottonmouth bite hadn't killed him.

But back to the exams, they had been excruciating. His arm was still throbbing vaguely (he could only imagine what those without healing abilities were feeling) and his brain felt like a wrung out sponge.

Maybe joining his father and killing Russian spies wasn't such a bad idea.

At least it was over – he didn't have to worry about getting his results back for a whole three months! He'd made sure that the testers or whoever knew to send his results to the Institute – he highly doubted his mother would be very impressed.

The other students were as subdued as he was, though their spirits were rapidly rising as the realization that the dreaded exams were over with and that the Professor had ordered them all enough pizza to feed a small army.

Not only was there pizza, Vincent was also to attend the opening of the gallery at the Met tonight in which his work would be displayed. Happily stuffing a bit of stuffed crust into his mouth, he hurried upstairs with his guests to get dressed.

Noelle was going of course as his date, and James was going as his best friend, but also Monica was coming, as were Alexei, Julia, Edward, Charles, Alana and Kelsey. Mr. Summers would be chaperoning(joy!), along with Bishop and Sage.

The older couple had finally reconciled to the point where Sage actually spoke to Bishop directly instead of merely speaking aloud when he was near. Vincent wondered how they would work together as chaperones or if the students would spend the night mediating the two as they had been doing for the past month.

Not that he was at all forgiving of Bishop, but all the arguing and backbiting was annoying as hell.

So at 6PM he came downstairs dressed in his black suit with the black shirt and green tie. The others quickly appeared in their Sunday best. Kind of. James had ditched his sedate maroon tie for one decked out in bright orange and fire engine red flames. Kelsey had stuck a huge bright yellow fake flower in her hair to offset her orange dress and matching Vans. Julia had fallen back into pink and frills, though she was now dabbling in some punk rocker chic – bold swatches of black amidst her outfit of baby pink.

As usual, his eyes found their way to Noelle in her jade green dress that showed off her lean, graceful arms and her mile long legs. And those awesome black and silver shoes.

Well, at least her brother was taking Sofya out somewhere so Vincent would be free to stare at her all night long.

"Is everyone here?" Cyclops demanded, marching into the kitchen and eyeing them all grimly. His hidden eyes lingered on the interesting fashion statements of his charges in distaste.

"It seems so," Sage stated calmly, decked out in a simple, sexy black dress.

"Yup," agreed Bishop, his gaze hardly wavering from Sage's form.

"Do you have the tickets?"

Hackles rising from the man's cold tone, he yanked the envelope from his pocket. "_Ouais_." He stuffed them back into his jacket before the uptight jerk could ask for them. "Le's go."

The ride into the City wasn't the most comfortable ride ever. Mr. Summers and his son glared at Vincent every chance they got – apparently they hadn't bought into the Professor's speech a month ago on how Vincent wasn't his father or mother and was quite welcome at the Institute so long as he was willing to learn – and Sage had gone back to icily ignoring Bishop.

The students in the limo sent for them by the L.H. Howard Committee for Young Artists tried to make up for the less than cheerful atmosphere by trying to imagine what the other art pieces would be.

Kelsey was still going on and on how awesome it would be if there was crushed Coke can in second place ("Seriously guys, don't you think it's hilarious when they try to pass off crap like that as art?") when they pulled up to the Metropolitan Museum.

Vincent stared in awe at the huge white marble building. There were dark red banners, illuminated with great floodlights, that spelled out 'Grand Opening of the 2010 Young Artists' Gallery' while below the words were small fragments of images of paintings and sculptures. In the place of honor, above the words was the vague shadow of a slender female form with arms outstretched as if to take flight.

He grinned.

They had arrived at 6:52, despite Cyclops' growling and trying to order the chauffeur around. But judging by the thick Jersey accent the driver used when he told Summers to go hell, Mr. Harvell knew perfectly well how to get through rush hour traffic in New York.

As it was, the moment they pulled up to the curb, they were practically divebombed by a middle aged woman in a long black satin dress and enough ropes of pearls to choke seven people. "Which of you is Vin-cent Bo-dreaux?"

"I's Vehn-sahnt Boo-dreaux," he instantly corrected her.

She zeroed in on him like a shark drawn to a bloody corpse. "You're him?"

"Yeah…"

"And these are your guests?"

"Yeah…"

Her eyes swept over them before landing on Noelle. "Is that your date?"

"Yes. Dat's Noelle LeBeau. Now who're you?"

The woman barely wasted a moment as she grabbed Noelle's arm and shoved them together. "Call me Pam. I'm the Master – or Mistress – of Ceremonies tonight. My God, we are so very late!"

There was the blinding flash of an unseen camera and then she was hustling them up the steps, through a crowd of well dressed elderly men and women, and into the museum.

Vincent barely had time to catch a glimpse of the magnificent marble and golden décor before he and the others were dragged into a cramped hallway filled with harassed looking people and several rather shell-shocked teenagers.

She shoved them together with the other teens and shouted to the hall at large. "Everyone's here! Let's move it!"

Instantly the mob of people began streaming in one direction and the X-Men found themselves carried along for the ride. In what seemed like seconds, Vincent was seated in the front row of a posh auditorium with about a dozen other student age kids. All of them kept looking around at each other critically.

Vincent suspected they were trying to figure out which was the grand prize winner. He smirked.

Behind the first row were the winners' guests, a smattering of black clad Goths (probably the friends of the vampire-looking girl slouched three seats away), perky looking parents, bored looking siblings, smug looking teachers (he spotted Miss Fiennes in an Indian style robe complete with scarf, gold jewelry, and henna designs), and artsy looking friends who liked to accessorize with over-large feathers. Behind them were rows and rows of stuffy looking rich people – probably the sponsors of the whole event. And behind them were a few unrecognizable people who could have been reporters, strippers, or terrorists for all he could see.

At precisely 7:05, the woman called Pam entered the stage, still pale and her gait was a shade too fast to be considered truly at ease. Despite all that, there was firm smile pasted onto her face.

"Welcome everyone to the Metropolitan Museum!" her voice was full of so much fake joviality that he nearly gagged. "I must say that on behalf of the Met that it gives us all no greater pleasure than to welcome you all here for our tenth annual opening of our Young Artist's Art Exhibition!"

Vincent could just picture the others giggling and rolling their eyes at the utter phoniness of the woman's speech.

'Pam' went on to explain the competition… how it was meant to encourage art and creativity in today's world of darkness and blah, blah, blah. She described the grand prize (this brought out a surge of approving 'ooohs' and 'aaaaahs'). She thanked the seemingly millions of people who had sponsored and donated to the exhibit and contest.

He recognized the last name Worthington. Look at that, Monica and Eddie's family had a hand in the pot.

Finally it came time for the giving of the awards.

Oh god, they went on forever…

Sculptures… Runners up, third place, second place, first place…

Drawings…

Paintings… He forced his ass up out of his chair to receive his first place award – the cheers from the right side of the audience made him straighten up and smile a bit. Turning his head as he went around to climb the steps and accept the plaque, he caught sight of his friends applauding him. The Summers looked like drill sergeants, but who cared? James was bouncing up and down erratically as he clapped and whooped, and the others were just as enthusiastic.

He shook Pam's hand, took the very nice plaque and hurried off the stage to get back to his seat.

Overall runner up…

Overall third place…

Overall second place…

"And finally, for his extraordinary use of technique and grace, harkening back to the classical times of Romanticism, and his beautiful work _La Nike del océan_, we are pleased to award the L. H. Howard Art Award to…"

An overly long dramatic pause.

"Vincent Boudreaux!"

He stood up, and instantly half the audience was standing up, not to give him a standing ovation, but to get a good look at him. In the walk to receive the over large check for 10,000 dollars as well as another plaque (and was it just him or did the walk seem longer than before?), there were thousands of eyes bearing down on him and half as many mouths whispering and wondering about him. To his right Vincent could see his friends cheering and shouting encouragingly. As he looked at them, winks, thumbs up, grins and mouthed congratulations filled his vision.

Vincent was grinning like he had won the Olympics when he made it to Pam and a pleasant elderly man wearing glasses an inch thick. Crap, he didn't know the guy's name…

"Congratulations, young man," the man said hoarsely, even as he smiled brightly.

"T'ank y', _Monsieur_." He shook the stranger's hand and was utterly shocked at the powerful grip those frail hands hid.

Pam beamed at him as she handed him plaque and check, and then hugged him.

"Right after I let you go, give me the stuff back so you can make your speech."

Speech?

What speech?

"Ehhh?" the old man asked. "You aren't going to make him give a speech, are you, Pat? Last year's put me right to sleep. To blazes with a speech! Come here, boy!"

The old man – damn, what was his name? – grabbed Vincent's arm and shook it vigorously again. "Hurry and get back to your seat before she changes her mind."

* * *

Noelle strode through the mob of people gathered around the newly unveiled works of the exhibit. To be fair, there were a lot of very nice works here. There were seascapes, still-lifes, portraits, and photographs hanging on the walls. Of course there were the obligatory works of abstract art. What looked like a crumpled bit of wire clothes hanger had been shaped into what looked like two bodies tangled in… okay, she was betting that the artist needed a boyfriend – or girlfriend. Or both. Keep all their options open.

One of the abstracts attracted her attention. It might have been an eye, but only if the sky could have an eye. The sky at dawn, noon, dusk and nightfall.

"Do you like it?" The artist had caught her looking at her painting. She was tiny, with a wild mop of bright blond hair with bold green stripes. Her clothes were artsy-punk chick to a fault. She wore a red long sleeved shirt under a black jacket vest. There were leggings torn just enough to be risqué without being trashy, black heeled boots, and a black and silver plaid skirt.

"Yeah, 's vereh nahce. Reminds meh o' flyin'."

"Me too. I got the idea from the view in my apartment – I've got a great view."

"Mah name's Noelle, w'as yo's?"

"Laney. Oh my gosh! That's the guy who won! Will you look at all those sluts just hanging off him?"

Eyebrow arching dangerously, she turned to see Vincent being swarmed by a bunch of wannabee blondes with too much make up and not enough clothes. Didn't anyone know the proper ways to seduce a man anymore?

"Dat would be… mah boyfriend. Excuse meh, Laney. Gotta go mark mah territory."

"Good luck, girl!"

Noelle nodded calmly to the young artist even as she fell into her hunting stride.

Poor Vincent looked more than a little off balance with the dozen or so whores pressing themselves up against him shamelessly. No wonder – the boy may have definite talent in wrapping girls around his finger, but she was willing to bet her very nice and beloved bike that he had never been cornered by so many desperate _coquettes_.

Southern women had more pride. At least, _this_ one did.

With the liberal use of her elbows, she expertly made her way through the girls and placed her hand gracefully on Vincent's shoulder. "Dere y' are, _cher_. Been lookin' f' y' everywhere."

Blatantly ignoring the girls – all of whom were glaring hatefully at her – she brushed a gentle kiss against the corner of his mouth and smiled at him. "_Félicitations_, le's see dis paintin' y' did."

"And just who are you?" demanded one of the girls loudly. Her hair was a fake platinum blond and her skin the false orange of too much time in a tanning bed. Her clothes could have been painted on. Slut.

"Noelle, hun," she responded, accentuating her Southern/Cajun accent. "So Vince, where's dis paintin' o' yo's?"

He gave her a look of pure relief. "I's right dis way."

Shaking the harpies' hands off of him, he took her hand and led her through the crowd to a familiar painting. Behind her, Noelle could hear the strangled gasps as the little girls recognized the Nike in the picture.

"Hey! Don't you walk away from me!" shrieked the lead girl so loudly that the entire room fell silent.

Noelle drew herself up and brushed a strand of hair negligently back over her shoulders. She knew perfectly well how they looked to everyone watching: a scandalously clad girl in heels worthy of a slut scowling at a well-dressed young woman with a tan that came directly from their yellow sun, and hair that hadn't been touched by hair dye since that disaster with Halloween spray paint. "Don' be stupid, little girl," she said quietly. "Ah ain' someone t' be pickin' a fahght wit'."

"Why you -!"

"Delilah!" an elderly woman with a hunch and a squint shoved between them, grabbed the idiot girl's arm and dragged her off into the crowd.

Noelle could hear the words 'disgrace', 'foolish', and 'what would your parents think'. She grinned.

"T'anks," Vincent said quietly. "Don' know where dey came from."

Tossing her hair, she gave him a rather disappointed look. "Didn' yo' mama eveh teach y' how t' deal with _petites coquettes_ lahke dat?"

He eyed them, slightly unnerved. "I kin handle 'em fine. Jus'… not when dey _swarm_."

She laughed. "Big tough Assassin Prince scared o' a coupla girls tryin' t' dress up lahke Momma."

The Prince scowled at her. "Don' t'ink Belladonna would call me a prince no mo'."

Noelle looked at him, unsure how to respond to this. "An' are we happy o' sad 'bout dis?"

"_Sais pas…"_

She shrugged. "Fair 'nough."

A quick glance found her a fancy marble bench with a brocade padded bench. "Le's sit."

The night was calming on her nerves after two weeks of trying to cram all of the info for the AP exams into her head. Even with the headache steadily worsening against her temples, it was nice to sit with Vincent here and look around as people oohed and aahed over the elegant pieces of artwork.

Not that she didn't know what this was. She was too old and clever to not know – and that was a fact not an arrogant opinion. If there was an emotion strong enough, and she didn't allow it to express itself, it was like trying to keep an exploding bomb under a porcelain bowl. And as her father's daughter, she knew a hell of a lot about explosions and what happened when you tried to keep one from happening.

In this case, keeping the fact that she was having serious feelings for the man sitting next to her was not a good move. Really not. Dangerous and stupid and…

"Didn' expect dere t' be dis many people here."

She jumped a bit, taken by surprise. "What? Oh. Well, it is a nahce exhibit. Ah t'ink some o' da works in here are betteh den a lot of da ot'er stuff dey got."

Vincent looked at her. "Y' been here be'fo'?"

"Cou'se."

He grinned and leaned close. "How much o' dis stuff y' stolen?"

Gamely ignoring the heat that spread from where his breath had brushed against her skin, she cocked her head and grinned at him. "None. An' even if Ah had, what makes y' t'ink Ah'd tell y'?"

He pouted. "Don' y' trust _moi_?"

She laughed. "Not as far as Ah kin t'row y'."

"Befo' o' afteh y' cut y'self?"

"Both."

He rolled his eyes. She chuckled and leaned against him.

Her headache eased somewhat as she propped her head up against his shoulder. "Dey're watchin' us."

His arm immediately wrapped around her shoulders.

"Well, well, mates," came the smug tones of James with Monica. "Don't you all look cozy?"

"Quick," Noelle said quietly, not changing her position a centimeter. "Do y'all see a bunch o' baby sluts watchin' us?"

The wicked twinkle in Monica's eye went out of like a candle in a hurricane. "Oh god, what did you do to them? They look like they're dying for a bite of your heart!"

"What did you do?" James repeated in a hushed tone.

Noelle shrugged and fit herself a little closer into Vincent's arm. "Ah took away dey chew toy."

Vincent flushed so hard she could feel it through her dress. Turning her head just so, she admired the tomato red of the Assassin Prince's face. She was close enough to kiss him again…

And her headache was back…

And now _she _was blushing.

Damn it – this crush wasn't a crush at all…

Ah well, being attracted to highly suitable – _unsuitable!_ – people ran in her family.

There was a boatload of people coming out of the museum. Fat women in overly dramatic furs and men in ridiculous English made suits climbed into limos. Yankees had no fashion sense at all. The younger people were better dressed, fashion and style expertly joined with sophistication to create mildly impressive ensembles.

But they were not what he was there to see…

_Le voila!_

A tall, handsome young man with dark blond hair in a well cut Italian suit walked out with a group of teens. He was talking and laughing with them easily as though he were one of them. With them was a serious dark haired man with sunglasses, a huge black man, and a slender impassive woman. He noted idly that the kids were better dressed than any of the adults.

Binoculars focusing fiercely on the small crowd, he watched as they neared a limo. The chauffeur opened the door for them and hurried around to turn the vehicle on.

The adults got in first.

The blond young man offered his hand to a remarkably beautiful girl with bright auburn hair in a dark green dress.

The binoculars zeroed in on the girl's face.

Ah.

Swinging the view over to the young man's face, the hands gripping the binoculars tightened.

The girl finished getting into the limo, quickly followed by the young man.

The door of the limo closed.

Setting the binoculars aside, he pulled out a cellphone and dialed.

"Guildmistress? I t'ink we got a problem."

**UH-OH! WHAT COULD THIS MEAN FOR OUR HEROES? WHY AM I STILL IN CAPS LOCK? **

**Not my best work, but at least it's up... Anyway, review and I'll try and get the next chapter up in about two weeks. Don't forget my poll!**

_**très facile**_** – "very easy"**

_**vous comprendrez**_** – "You all understand"**

_**Félicitations**_** – "Congratulations"**

_**petites coquettes**_** – ****"little sluts"**

_**Le voila!**_** – "There he is!"**


	59. Chapter 59

**Thanks to Mr. Bunny Sensei for getting me off my ass to update. Arigato! **

**Now: Chapter 58, in which girls are meddlesome, trouble is brewing in New Orleans, someone attempts to cook, and stolen jewels are transported.**

**ENJOY!**

**And keep voting on the name for Bishop and Sage's baby girl!**

Chapter 58

Monica, Kelsey, and Julia had decided that enough was enough. This could not be allowed to continue. Measures had to be taken.

They had to get Noelle LeBeau and Vincent Boudreaux together.

Their meeting was scaring the crap out of the two other teenage girls who knew Noelle better than most. Sofy Rasputin wound her long braid through her fingers and Alana tapped her foot silently as they listened shamelessly.

"I'm telling you, the way she looked at him… And you've all _seen_ the way he looks at her." Monica's voice was hushed and dreamy. "They are _soooo_ perfect for each other!"

Kelsey was a bit more far seeing. "Think of the babies they'd have! Can you say sexy?"

"Kels! That's _not_ what we should be thinking about! How about talking about exactly how we're going to get them together?"

"Why are we not telling Noelle about this?" Sofy asked near soundlessly.

"Because she would probably flip out. And a flipped out Noelle throws things and yells. Not pretty."

"Perhaps we should tell Vincent –"

"No! Don't you understand why this isn't anyone's business but theirs?"

A heat of shame crawled up Sofy's neck. No. She didn't have the foggiest clue why the three conspirators should stay out of Noelle's business beyond the simple fact that it was Noelle and Vincent's lives they were trying to mess with and people had the right to make their own decisions without other people trying to manipulate them. "No… Lucien does not wish for them to date each other."

Alana grabbed her arm and hustled her away from the kitchen where Julia and the others were plotting to push the two Cajuns together. They went to the Game Room, which was empty since the students all preferred the bright spring sunshine to the stuffy inside of the mansion.

Closing the door behind her, the young shapeshifter stared at her friend very seriously. "Have you ever read Romeo and Juliet?"

Well, that was quite the non-sequitor. "Yes… but what has that to do with anything?"

"Well, y' know how the two families had been fighting for forever?"

"Yes."

"That's how it is New Orleans where they're from. The Thieves and the Assassins. Noelle, Lucien, and Claire are Thieves –"

This Sofy already knew – Lucien had told her all about the Guild in which he had grown up around.

"- and Vincent is an Assassin."

"They are enemies?"

Alana nodded grimly. "They're supposed to be. Can you imagine what their families would think if they came back saying that they were dating? There'd be all kinds of trouble – and not just for them. There's a good chance that the war – because that's what there is in New Orleans – would wind up on the Institute's front steps."

Sofy began tugging on her braid again.

"It's not right that everything should fall apart just because those three feel the need to meddle."

"Then why do we not tell them?"

"If Lucien and the others had wanted them to know, they would have told them and this wouldn't have been happening."

"Then why did you tell me?"

"'Cause you're involved already. Dating Lucien makes you a target. I'm guessing that the only reason he hasn't told you is because he figures you're safe from anything Assassins could do to you. Also, I think he was working up to it – didn't want to scare you off, you know?"

Ah yes, that did sound like Lucien…

"Now." The blue skinned girl clapped her hands together in a businesslike way. "What are we going to do about those three?"

A rather wicked thought flashed across Sofy's mind – she equated it to spending too much time with her prankster brother. "I may have an idea."

* * *

Vincent had a crapload of missed calls when he got home from school on Monday. He frowned at his cellphone for a moment before scrolling to see the numbers –

Oh.

Oh shit.

It was his mother.

Interspersed with a few calls from his cousins, but the majority was from his mother's phone.

He considered for a very long moment. If he called and formally announced his resignation from the Guild, there was a 100% chance that his mother would come slipping in the next night to slash everyone's throat.

The thought of James, Julia, Alexei, Sarah, or Noelle…

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to continue reviewing his options. He could always call her and say that he had decided to complete his mission but he had a sneaking suspicion that his mother wouldn't believe him. It might buy him some extra time but when Noelle and her siblings went home for the summer his mother would unleash the hounds of hell on them all.

But he couldn't just _not_ call her… that would probably just earn him a battalion of his cousins on their doorstep by the end of the week.

He was at an utter loss.

Vincent wasn't quite sure how he had ended up in the Danger Room but it felt good to stretch his muscles and get his heart pumping. There hadn't been much time for Danger Room sessions during the AP Exams and he found himself enjoying himself as he swung the sword his father had left in his possession (Roxanne, wasn't it?) with increasing skill at the targets before him.

He had forgotten in the last few weeks that he was a renegade Guild Assassin. His life was forfeit unless the Guildmistress pardoned him. And Vincent got the feeling she wouldn't be doing that anytime soon.

Rolling under an attacker, he twisted himself and thrust his blade straight into the simulation's chest. The robot jolted and crumpled to the ground, only to be replaced by four more.

He licked his lips and was about to lunge when the cool voice of the Danger Room stated coolly, "Sniper 207X training session ended."

Okay… confusing. Had someone booked the room? What idiot would ask to have more torture in this place than absolutely necessary?

Oh right, him.

And Wolverine. The short man was coming in through the opening doors, looking as fierce and slightly impatient as he always did.

"You're gettin' better with that thing. Maybe we should talk with Chuck about sending you to Japan for some actual training."

Vincent stared at him. "_Merci_."

Silence.

"Did y' have somet'in' t' say t' _moi_, _mon ami_?"

"What's goin' on, Knife? There's scent straight from the bayou all around the grounds, and it ain't from any of you Swamp Rats."

"_Quoi?_" They were here already?

Shit.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit…

"Dey still hangin' aroun'?"

"No. Took off yesterday."

Maybe it had been a Thief?

"Why y' askin' _moi_? Coulda been a T'ief."

"Thieves don't smell like old blood and death. Assassins do. And as I understand it, there's a pretty large group hanging around New Orleans."

He swallowed hard and thought of the dinner that Noelle and Lucien were cooking upstairs. Today was their sister's birthday. She was thirteen. He didn't know Claire very well, but from the times he had spoken to her, he had liked her.

She was sharp and sarcastic, but funny. And cute as hell.

His fists clenched at the thought of her never seeing her fourteenth birthday.

And Lucien was a pain in the ass sometimes, but he was a good guy and watched your back.

And Noelle… it didn't bear thinking about.

Words were suddenly spilling out of his mouth. He told Wolverine how he had grown up, how he had met Noelle that day by the canals, the day he had chased her up onto the theater and watched as she fell through the rotted wood. He told him about Belladonna's lies and plans. He told him everything.

He spoke so much that his throat hurt a little when he was done.

Wolverine didn't speak a word during his ramblings and even now he was remaining silent. But what had he expected? That this short Canadian man would have the answer to everything?

"We need to tell all of this to the Professor."

"Wha'?"

Logan looked at him with an odd expression. If it wasn't for the overwhelming grimness on that craggy face, Vincent would have said it was reassurance.

"We need some kinda plan for this. Hurry up, we're burning daylight."

* * *

Claire loved her birthday. Every May 17th was a new best day ever. Of course, today had certainly started off with an interesting bang.

Julia had come out of the shower to find her brown hair had been died the color of week old green vomit. It took almost an hour for the teachers to talk her out of drowning herself in the sink.

Her brother had made her favorite dish. Catfish, just the way she liked it. And if it wasn't quite as good as her mother's, she could forgive him for that.

And her sister had made the mother of all red velvet cakes for her. It was a delicious looking mountain of cream cheese frosting and red sweet goodness, with the words '_Bon anniversaire Claire'_ on it.

There was a modest number of presents waiting for her but the moment Logan walked in with Vincent Claire knew something was wrong. She had always had a good sense of when things were going to get much worse and that little spidey sense was going off like a fire alarm in her head.

But no one said anything about it as dinner was served, Happy Birthday was sung and cake was eaten. By the time it was time for her to open her presents, Claire was almost tempted to pull off her gloves and threaten everyone with a draining if they didn't tell her what the hell was going on.

Sure the students acted bright and happy, but the instructors and Vincent seemed tense.

A hand landed on her shoulder and Lucien's voice sounded just behind her. "Jus' finish wit' dis, _petite_, den we kin go ahead an' fahnd out what da hell's goin' on."

So she dutifully tore open her presents. There was absolutely no need to fake delight at her gifts.

Once her party was over, the Professor began to explain the situation.

Claire wanted to retch – even her second home wasn't safe from the stupid war.

* * *

"Belladonna. I's Vincent."

"Since when d'y' call _ta mère_ by her firs' name, _cher_?" The woman's voice had the syrupy sweet lying edge that meant she was going to try and play him.

"F' a coupla weeks now."

"Aw, hun, it was just a little twistin' o' words… Not'in' f' y' t' get upset about…"

"Cut de crap an' tell me wha' y' wan'."

Silence. "Y' mission –"

Rage rose in him like a snake. "It ain' my mission no mo'. I ain' touchin' dese people jus' 'cause dere daddy hurt y' feelings twen'y years ago. An' if y' even t'ink about touchin' any o' us up here, I be sendin' wha's left back t' _la ville_ in a match box."

He'd have to thank Lucien for that little phrase.

"Y' allegiance belongs t' me, y' little bastard. Y' swore an' oath dat-"

"De oath o' allegiance an' obedience don' got any standin' durin' de final test. I's my choice an' I choose t' walk away. Stay away from us. Don' call me again."

And he hung up.

* * *

Noelle arched her eyebrows and put her hands on her hips. "What're y'all t'ink y' doin'?"

Christina Alvers gestured with the scissors in her hand. "My big sister got a new haircut for the prom when they dyed her hair back to brown so I'm giving Brianna a new haircut for the Lion King!"

The young Thief darted forward and relieved the eager child of the scissors, "Why don' y' let _moi_ do dat."

"Okay! She wants a hairstyle like Halle Berry!"

"Bree, chile, y' too young fo' a Halle Berry hairstyle. But I see what I kin do."

She ended up cutting off most of the small child's hair, leaving it at a neat, shoulder length. Brianna was just at the age when she should start taking care of her own hair and when Noelle had gotten to that age, Rogue had cut her hair short so she could grow up learning to look after it. It took only a few more minutes to put the newly cut black hair into pigtails and show the girl her new 'do.

Brianna squealed in delight and instantly Noelle was surrounded by other excited little girls angling for a haircut.

She was just giving Fatima's long dark hair a layered look when Julia came sidling into the room. "Hey, Julie."

"Sooooo…"

Oh boy, that was Julia's wheedling tone. She was up to something. Everything from her fashionable ballet flats and her newly cut, permed, and dyed hair set off the very reliable alarm bells in the Thief's head. "What is it, Julia?"

"I was just wondering if you'd be willing to double-date with me and Alexei."

"Ah'm sincerely hopin' yo' talkin' 'bout a date-date an' not a threesome."

"I can't do threesomes! I'm Jewish!"

"Jews can't have threesomes?"

"What's a threesome?"

Julia turned bright red, but Noelle didn't hesitate. "I's a Cajun expression, Timmi. Y' don' need t' say it here in da North."

"Oh, okay." Fatima went back to staring at the wall, none the wiser.

The scissors continued their rhythmic snip-snip again and more bits of dark brown hair fluttered to the bedspread. "Why exactly d'y' wan' _moi_ t' be goin' wit' y' an' Alex? Ah know y'all ain' been havin' any trouble…"

"How d'you know that?" the younger girl demanded.

She treated Julia to her mother's 'you're an idiot' look. "Who's da empath around here?"

There was a pout of epic proportions that she calmly ignored.

"Like, c'mon, Ellie –"

"Don' call meh Ellie."

"_Noelle,_ please come with us… He's a really nice guy –"

Snapping the scissors a bit harder than necessary, the Cajun very gently tapped Fatima on the temple. "Yo' done, _chérie_." Her silvery-green eyes darted to the babbling valley girl. "An' so are you."

"But –"

"Ain' y' learned y' lesson yet about tryin' t' set meh up wit' boys? Dey don' las' thirty minutes."

Fatima was taking every possible second to redo her headscarf, eyes darting from Julia back to Noelle. Grimacing at the thought of this conversation being repeated to the rest of her children – especially those such as Tony and Brianna who were far more worldly and likely to know what a threesome actually was – Noelle bent down, rewrapped the girl's hijab, and firmly sent her away.

As soon as the door closed behind the child, the argument continued.

"Who is dis _garçon_?"

"C'mon – it's a surprise!"

"I's a blind date an' y' know it!"

"Why won't you do this!"

Faced with a furious, scowling Julia, there was nothing else to do but pull herself to her own full height (which was a lot more impressive than Julia's, thank you very much) and glare. "'Cause Ah got betteh t'ings t' do wit' mah tahme den put up wit' a bunch o' idiots y' t'ink are good f' meh."

"You haven't dated since Denzel! You need to stop hiding from the world and get back to being normal!"

* * *

Vincent, James, Lucien, and Edward Worthington played Egyptian Ratscrew at breakneck pace in the rec room when Alexei came slinking looking a bit like a beaten dog.

"Wha' happened t' you, _mon ami_?"

The huge Russian grimaced. "Julia is in a very bad mood."

"How bad?"

"She is cooking. Spaghetti. Bread. And brownies."

Silence.

"Oh good Lohrd…" Lucien threw his hand into the air. "Who's up f' Taco Bell?"

"_Me!"_ was the instantaneous response.

It wasn't until the young men had safely escaped to the cheapo wannabee Mexican joint that the young men dared broach the subject of the angry cook that was undoubtedly wreaking havoc on their nice kitchen.

"Did anyone warn the others?" James asked, picking up his burrito. "'Bout the crap they'll be subjected to?"

"Got de message t' Noelle," Lucien said calmly. "Dey won' be eatin' complete crap."

"What I want to know," Eddie said grimly. "Is what crawled up her ass and died?"

"There is nothing wrong –"

"Save it, mate." James was uncharacteristically solemn. "We all know y' sheila only cooks Italian when she's bloody pissed to hell."

Lucien could tell at a glance that his best friend had not wanted them to notice his girlfriend's less than chipper mood. "What happened?"

"Julia had a fight with your sister."

His eyebrows made a mad dash for his hairline. "_Quoi?_"

Alexei gave him a completely perplexed look. "I have not a clue, my friend. All she would say is that your sister did not know how to appreciate the mark of true friendship."

"_Dieu_… she tried t' set up Noelle up wit' somebody again."

The sound of liquid sloshing over the edge of a cup neatly diverted their attention to Vincent Boudreaux who had just crushed his cup. Sprite was now fizzing all over the table.

The Thief rolled his eyes to the grimy ceiling of the fast-food joint. Didn't Assassins teach their kids how to be _subtle_?

"Noelle gettin' set up on a date?" Vincent demanded urgently, ignoring the soft drink soaking his shirt.

"No." Alexei looked well and truly confused at Vincent's reaction. "She would not allow it. That is why she and Julia were fighting. I am hoping that this will settle itself after the prom is over – Julia has been quite nervous about the prom."

Vincent's shoulders relaxed and Lucien made a note to give him a few hard cracks to the skull during the next Danger Room session to knock some sense into that fool head of his. If the idiot couldn't even keep his cool around them, how the hell was he going to keep cool back in _la ville_?

Assuming he even went back, Noelle had told him that Vincent was considering staying here during the summer to keep away from his murderous family.

Good move.

* * *

Sofy stared in confusion at the neat little brown box she had received in the mail. Unlike the packages she usually received, this one lacked the postage marking that stated it was from Russia. This one bore a return address that stated its origins in New Orleans.

Who would be sending something from New Orleans?

Lucien or his sisters? But they lived in the same house as herself… they could just hand something to her…

There was the possibility that their parents could have mailed something to her – but why?

Or… it could be someone with a much darker agenda.

Biting her lip, she tucked the package under arm and headed upstairs. Instead of turning left to go to her room, she turned right, towards Noelle's room.

As soon as the girl opened the door, Sofy shoved the box into her hands and asked, "Is this from your parents?"

Noelle blinked, but calmly took the object and examined it. She eyed the address and ran her hands all over the neat brown paper, before nodding sharply. "_Oui_, straight from _mes parentes_. T'ough, Ah'd have t' say _ma mère et ma tante_ had more o' a hand in it den _mon père_ did. C'n Ah see what it is? Open it."

Sofy quickly obeyed, ripping the paper away to reveal a slender little white square box. Frowning, she tore it open.

She dimly registered Noelle's gasp of "_Sacre_!"

It was a set of jewelry. All silver and glittering diamonds – a necklace, earrings, bracelets, and even a hair piece. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

"I – I – I – what is this?"

"Dat," Noelle said quietly. "Is what Jean-Luc gave t' his wahfe when dey got married. Now i's kinda an heirloom o' da _famille_. Papa must o' got it fo' y'."

"I… I thought your father was not on good terms with his family."

"Wit' some o' 'em… no. But _mon père_'s a t'ief. He takes what he pleases."

A little tendril of concern began twisting and roiling in her belly. "These are stolen?"

"Yup, Jean-Luc stole it from some big jewel connoisseur 'bout fifty years ago in France. An' _mon père_ swiped it from him so mah mama could wear it when dey got married."

"_I am holding stolen merchandise?_"

"Yup." Noelle was being infuriatingly blasé about this. "What, y' don' lahke 'em?"

"Th-that is not the point! I cannot wear these!"

"Don' be silly_. Venez-ici_ an' Ah'll put 'em on y'."

Before Sofy could say another word, her friend had snatched the box from her and was quickly and expertly slipping the necklace around her neck.

"But –"

Noelle sighed and pulled her cellphone from her pocket. She dialed almost without looking and handed the phone over to Sofy. "Heah, talk t' mah mama an' tell her why y' won' take de jewels."

Sofy gasped and fumbled desperately with the phone. "Why?"

"'Cause she made de same arguments on her weddin' day when _mon père_ gave 'em t' her. Ma mama ain' too fond o' what _mon père_ did. But she wore 'em anyways."

Sofy meant to argue further – she really did – but at that moment, a woman's husky, Southern accented voice spoke on the other end of the phone.

"Hello? Noelle, sugah, is that you?"

"I's Sofy an' she won' take de jewels!" Noelle called in the direction of the mouth piece of the phone.

"No, ma'am. My name is Sofya Rasputin."

"The one datin' mah son?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Sugah, don' be callin' meh 'Ma'am'. Ah ain' that old. Rogue'll do just fahne. Now tell meh why y' don' wanna wear the jewels so Ah c'n yell, win the argument an' get back t' wonderin' why such a pretty gal lahke you is datin' mah son."

**My own mother is just like this… good times…**

**So, review please!**

_Bon anniversaire Claire_ – "Happy Birthday Claire"

_la ville_ – "the city" In this context, New Orleans

_garçon – _"boy"

_Sacre_ – "Holy fill-in-the-blank"

_Venez-ici – _"Come here"


	60. Chapter 60

**Yes, I am still alive. I think my new Beta Reader has up and died on me… but other than that the story is still going strong!**

**We are coming toward the home stretch of the story! Drop me a review if you'd like a sequel.**

**NOW ENJOY!**

Sniper 59

The Saturday of prom dawned bright and early. For once, Wolverine and the instructors didn't have to fight to get people out of bed; on the contrary, the girls attending the prom (Alana, Kelsey, Julia, and Sofya) were practically climbing the walls waiting for their Danger room sessions to start. Even some of the best performers of the Danger Room were outdone by the wannabee prom queens. Sarah literally stopped at one point to watch Julia punch her way through a wooden wall to get through an obstacle course faster.

It was the shortest session of the year.

As soon as the last hologram disappeared, true pandemonium broke out.

Julia and Kelsey stole a dozen avocados for facial crème and wandered about looking like green aliens with melting skin (Noelle did not appreciate this, as it frightened her children). Alana couldn't pass a mirror without stopping to experiment with the color of her skin, her eyes, her hair and her facial features. Sofy had taken refuge in the only room that didn't have someone longing to give her a makeover: Noelle and Sarah's room.

The guys disappeared for two and a half hours and returned with their rented tuxes – except Eddie who had his own custom-made suits. Ah the perks of being one of the richest kids in the country.

By noon, the Institute smelled so strongly of nail polish, hairspray, six different kinds of body wash, four different body sprays and four different colognes, that Logan and Laura went out in the woods to spar to get away from the overpowering scents. Poor Dr. McCoy had to hide in his underground lab with a face mask to protect his own sensitive nose.

Jubilee had taken up residence in Julia's room, wielding a curling iron and a hair straightener like some sort of hair dressing secret agent. While Julia and Kelsey got the latest, fashionable hair updoes, Alana tried to decide whether to be a blonde, redhead, or brunette. And on the other side of the house, Sofy sat still while Monica and Noelle brushed and styled her long, curly, black-blue hair.

At four in the afternoon, any and all types of food and drink had been utterly banished from all rooms with prom goers inside as gowns and tuxes came out of bags and went on bodies.

Of course, getting dressed was an insane process in itself.

Alana nearly had a breakdown when she found lime green pumps where her black high heeled sandals had been. One ten second search later, they found her shoes under her bed in a large box marked: 'Prom: TOUCH AND DIE!'. Julia was just realizing how ridiculously high her heels were and was tottering around the room, trying to catch her balance. Kelsey stood in front of the mirror, agonizing on how she should've lost those four extra pounds. Sofy was making one last ditch effort and argument to avoid wearing the stolen jewels (it turned out that Noelle was just as good at winning arguments as her mother).

In the guys' room, Alexei somehow managed to make an impromptu set of handcuffs out of his tie as he tried to get the cloth properly around his neck. Lucien spent ten minutes freeing his friend, then returned to pulling on his shoes. Eddie kept asking if they were sure he shouldn't wear his trench coat to hide his huge, golden wings. Charles asked no one for direction, just kept doing, undoing, and then redoing his tie.

The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed five o' clock just as the girls were coming down to meet their boyfriends.

* * *

Noelle leaned over to watch the spectacle. Good Lord, all this needed was that song about prom night from that one Disney movie… the one with that had all those songs… She couldn't remember the name (even though most of the preteens in the Institute had been obsessed with it lately) but that was no real loss.

Though to be fair, some background music would not have been inappropriate considering how the prom-goers looked. She whistled at the sight of her brother. "Y' clean up nahce, _mon frère_!"

Lucien gave her an eye roll so easily it was worthy of their mother.

She chuckled. "Jus' don' choke on y' tongue when y' see Sofy!"

A few feet away from her sibling, Alexei was gaping rather stupidly at Julia. The petite Chicago native had chosen a baby pink dress with a black lacey design along her bust, after which the soft flowy material clung to her body until it fell loosely down to just past her knees. She looked pretty good.

Kelsey was decked out in a short golden dress that had a floaty skirt that flared if she turned too hard. Poor Eddie was trying very hard to be a good guy and not stare at the girl's legs.

Alana had on a long black dress with silver trim and sparkles. She kept giggling and twirling around and around, fully enjoying the attention of her boyfriend Charles Summers, who – for once – had nothing snide to say.

Then there was Sofy. She looked like a goddess. The red dress clung elegantly to every graceful curve. And the jewels made her positively glow.

The look on Lucien's face was positively priceless.

"How… how do I look?"

In true Southern gentleman fashion, Lucien bowed to her, took her hand and brushed a kiss against the back of it. "_Très belle, ma chérie_."

Sofy turned the color of her dress. "Thank you."

Noelle leaned against the railing and watched.

"Are dey kissin' yet?"

Claire had appeared beside her with Graziella.

"Nope."

"Oh!" Graziella whispered. "Sofy looks so pretty!"

"She'd betteh, y' have any idea how long dat took? Now _venez_, petites, we got t' get y'all cleaned up f' t'nahght."

* * *

Lucien was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. He reached out and tugged lightly at the glittering diamond necklace around his girlfriend's neck. "Ma mama send dat t' y'?"

A very nice flush crawled up her neck. "Yes… she would not take no for an answer."

He chuckled. "Yeah, Mama's like dat. _Mon père_ says she perfected it by watchin' _ma Tante_."

She giggled and ducked her head.

Just behind him, he could hear Alexei reassuring Julia. "Yes, Julia, you look beautiful. I have never seen anyone so beautiful."

"Oh, thanks!" Julia gushed. "You are soooo sweet!"

"Okay everybody!" Bobby Drake shouted, leaping down the last two steps with the ease of a much younger man. A camera swung crazily from his fist. "It's picture time!"

"Since when do you take pictures when people go to prom?" Kelsey Crisp demanded.

"Since I got calls from New York, Chicago, Russia, Boston, Philadelphia and New Orleans threatening my life and limbs if I didn't. Your parents are all pretty scary you know."

Lucien pictured his father angry. Not good. His Tante angry. Scary as hell. His mother angry. He'd rather face the seven levels of hell, thank you.

"Okay, now everybody bunch together!"

The 'bunching together' entailed everyone scrunching together, smushing anyone unlucky enough to be in the center. Unfortunately, that was Eddie, whose poor wings were pinned to his body in a highly unnatural looking fashion.

They took about twenty pictures before Drake realized that he had been cutting off their heads. It was at this point that Jubilee took the camera. She immediately began arranging them in a somewhat more comfortable position: the girls sat on the bench with the boys standing behind their respective date.

"Toss your hair, Kels! More sparkle, Sofy! Batter those lashes, Julie! And Alana! Stop changing your hair, chica – black looks good on you!"

On and on it went.

Jubilee insisted on taking pictures of the couples, then of each kid by themselves and was just talking about fun pictures when Logan marched in in a surprisingly nice suit and his usual cowboy hat.

"Let's get going! Reservations don't hold forever!"

"But Wolvie!" Jubilee complained, snapping pictures of Eddie and Kelsey who were smiling wearily at the camera. "We're not finished taking pictures."

"They don't use so many pictures in a military briefing. Now let's move it!"

Rescued from the mad photographers, they all hastened to climb into the magnificent limo that awaited them. The interior was all posh seats, big-screen TV, and a wet bar.

"Don't even think about it, Sparky," Logan growled, glancing at the eager look on Kelsey's face.

"But it's prom night!"

"Wait until your wedding night."

The restaurant was the only five star place from Bayville to New York, but it sure as hell deserved every one of those stars. The maitre d' didn't so much as blink at Eddie's huge wings, but immediately showed them to a table in the back. He didn't complain or even give a nasty look when Logan insisted on them being in a corner so he could keep an eye on the whole building at large.

And the dinner was good – if you ignored the occasional dirty looks from the other patrons – and the service was just as good.

Then it was time for the actual prom.

The school had rented out an entire conference room in a five-star hotel (Thank you very much Mr. Worthington III) and the entire thing had been made up like a forest. For one solid second, Lucien thought he had stepped back into the bayou back home.

There were paintings of trees all along the walls, interspersed with small, twinkling lights just like the firebugs back home. Dark, tinted lights lit up the place – well, as much as blue and purple and deep pink lights could light up a place – interspersed every so often by white lights. Somehow, it didn't look tacky. Along one side of the room was a small army of little round tables, each covered with white table clothes, looking rather ghostly in the dim light.

At each table were neat place mats with intricately folded napkins, tall, lovely wineglasses and in the center was a configuration of white roses in glass vases.

All in all, it looked pretty damn good.

As they entered silence fell for a solid moment as their classmates gaped at the senior mutants entered with their dates, each one looking good enough to grace the cover of a Teen Magazine. Then there was the expected hiss of whispers and murmurs as people got over their shock and begin discussing the mutants' gall to come to the senior prom.

Borne on this wave of suspicion and prejudice came the respectable Principal Kelly in an ill-fitting suit. The elderly man's face was twisted in an unusually ugly expression. "You came."

"Yes we did, sir."

For once, Lucien greatly appreciated Charlie Summers' stuck up, aggravating attitude as the X-Man straightened his backbone and looked the principal right in the eye. "We paid for our tickets and clothes and we intend to enjoy ourselves. There are no outstanding things on any of our records to keep us out of here. And if you try to keep us out, I can guarantee that you and the school will be receiving a lawsuit for blatant discrimination."

The look on the older man's face was not a pleasant sight but he stepped aside.

Charles didn't deign to glance at him as he tucked Alana's arm through his own and led her away to an empty table.

Smirking, Lucien followed with Sofy.

* * *

"Ah wonder how it's goin'," Claire said. She pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.

Graziella spun around, giggling as her golden dress flared up and swooshed around her knees. "Great! Sofy really likes your brother."

"And why shouldn't she?" Saya asked, brushing her long black hair away from her face. "Your brother is soooo hot!"

Claire scrunched up her nose at thought of her brother being hot. He was better off trapping her in closets, snatching her dessert, teasing her, tugging her ponytail, and tossing her into the bayou. He didn't belong in the 'hot' category. He was Lucien. Her annoying older brother. Not hot.

"No he ain'."

"He soooo is!"

"He ain'!"

"Don't fight!" Sayuri begged. "Let's just get ready! Come on! I have never seen a Broadway musical before!"

"Ah ain' eveh seen one neither."

And the conversation was steered to the much safer topic of what the musical would be like – Saya was convinced that there would be a real lion there and succeeded in scaring the crap out of Graziella who had a powerful fear of any animal bigger than a German Sheppard.

"And it will probably jump into the audience and roar and –"

Graziella's neatly brushed hair made her look like a cat as it started to puff out (Grazi's hair always got bushier as she got scareder, just like a cat's fur standing up). "No! No! Not listening! Not listening!"

"Dat's enough! Shut up, Saya!"

"And it'll eat some of the smaller kids. And lions especially love to eat people with green cat eyes!"

Graziella was outright crying now, hiding her strange feline eyes in her hands.

Claire was now completely pissed off. She shoved herself between the sobbing Italian and the smirking Japanese-British girl, and peeled off her glove. "Ah tol' y' t' shut up."

Saya backed off, eyes focused on the bare hand before her.

"_Claire Adelaïde LeBeau! Arrêté-le!_"

Crap. Noelle.

And there stood her older sister, framed in their doorway, hands on hips. She looked just like their mother when Rogue was angry.

"Put da gloves back on!"

Scowling lightly, she slid the black gloves back onto her hands. "She started it."

"An' now Ah'm finishin' it." Noelle was dressed in her black dress with the delicate silver and gold belt, her jewelry, and the black and silver shoes. She was every inch a Southern Belle. "Saya. Keep scarin' Grazi an' Ah be forced t' tell y' _maman_ 'bout what y' did t' Fatima's bear."

Saya went white. "You wouldn't!"

"Try meh."

And the argument was over with Noelle as the victor. As usual.

* * *

_Let's go all the way tonight_

_No regrets, just love_

_We can dance until we die_

_You and I_

_We'll be young forever!_

Alana laughed and spun lightly on the balls of her feet. Her dress rose gracefully around her knees as she twirled. Charles laughed as he never had before as he turned her again and again.

"Wow!" Sofy said softly from where she was sitting with Kelsey, both trying to catch their breath. "Alana can certainly dance!"

"Tell me about it! Only Noelle can outdance her!"

"It seems Noelle can out-do anyone in anything."

"She is hopeless at German, art, and at playing anything that doesn't have keys or rhyme with 'iano."

Sofy giggled a bit at that. "You have known her for a long time?"

"She and her family came to my fifth birthday party. That's when we first met – if you can call two five year olds staring at each other and fighting over a fire trunk meeting. Yes, we've known each other for forever."

Lucien abruptly appeared beside Sofy's chair and extended a hand. "Another dance, _ma chérie_?"

Tilting her head up a bit (because she couldn't help but feel proud and beautiful to be on the arm of such a handsome man) she stood up and allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor.

"Look at that," cooed Melissa, the head cheerleader. She looked like she had stepped out of a fashion magazine – not one hair was out of place. "The freak found her Prince Charming."

"Ah ain' a Prince, _mam'selle_," Lucien said coolly. His eyes ran over the girl in an extremely unimpressed manner. "But y' still ain' in mah class. Good t'ing too."

He turned back to smile at Sofy. "Shall we?"

"Let's."

The music slowed and she wrapped her arms around her boyfriend's neck.

At the sight of them on the floor, most of the students quickly retreated to the edges of the faux wooden dance floor. Though it was obviously meant to be an insult, an attempt to alienate them, Sofy couldn't find it in herself to care.

Savage Garden began to croon from the speakers and they moved lazily to the music.

_I knew I loved you before I met you_

_I think I dreamed into life_

_I knew I loved you before I met you_

_I have been waiting all of my life_

Kelsey and Eddie suddenly appeared at the edge of her vision, moving effortlessly together. And she could see Alana and Charles over Lucien's shoulder. And she could sense her brother and Julia dancing off to the side.

There was the evil hiss of whispering but Sofy was wearing a red dress fit for a princess and jewels for millionaire – literally. She was above such things for tonight.

With that comforting thought, she buried lay her shoulder into Lucien's shoulder and breathed in his scent. Under his aftershave, she caught a hint of motor oil, spices, and something darker.

MMMMM…

"Ready?"

She jerked her eyes up to his. "For what?"

One of his hands caught hers while the other settled her other hand on his shoulder before settling on the small of her back.

"Eveh danced f' real?"

* * *

Vincent tugged his blazer straight. He had decided against a tie, choosing to just wear black slacks, black sports coat and a red button up. He had tucked two knives away just in case, one attached securely to his forearm and the other tucked away in his boot. James had already left, whistling and flicking his lighter open and closed rhythmically.

He felt pretty good today. Noelle had called down to New Orleans to get him a new cell number, so his mother was no longer calling him. The Professor, Dr. McCoy, and Sage were on the alert for any flights coming in from Louisiana, and – would wonders never cease? – Lucien had somehow arranged for an immediate alert if any Assassin left the _la ville_. The Prince of Assassins had Thieves watching his back.

He laughed.

His door opened a crack and one of the children – he could never keep them all straight in his head – poked his head in. "Hey, Vincent, Miss Munroe is calling everyone down."

"_D'accord, mon gar_. I be dere in a second."

Instead of leaving, the small boy came further into the room and climbed up on James' bed. "Are you really an Assassin?"

"Shouldn' y' be downstairs?"

The kid shrugged. "Miss Ororo told me to bring you down. That means I gotta wait for you." He nodded impressively, but the effect was lost when it was done by such a small kid.

"What's your name again?"

The kid pouted. "Jake. Jake Alvers. My big sister's at prom."

"What're y' powers?"

From the grin that spread across his face, Jake had been waiting desperately for that question. "Wanna see?"

"Sho."

The boy went absolutely still and his eyes started to roll.

Vincent took a step towards him in alarm, but stumbled harshly when the ground trembled beneath his feet.

"JAKE!"

The tremor abruptly stopped and footsteps pounded toward them.

"Uh-oh. Gotta go!"

* * *

It was the cynical belief of some of the older instructors at the Institute that no matter what, something was going to go wrong. Tonight was no different.

First, Eddie was elbowed roughly out of the way by a flock of football players as he went to get drinks for himself and Kelsey. When he tried to get back to his date, now bearing a Sprite and a virgin Pina Colada, they tried once more to slam into him.

In answer, he spread one great wing and swept two out of range and the would-be bullies bumped into their buddies. The athletes fell to the ground like dominoes.

Eddie stopped in confusion. "You guys okay?"

"This freak used his powers!" shouted one of the thugs, shoving his face so close that the New Yorker heir could smell the booze on his breath.

"And this idiot is drunk."

"What is going on here?"

Ah, the illustrious Principal Kelly.

"The freak assaulted me!"

"And me!"

"We're witnesses!"

Eddie arched an eyebrow. "That would mean a lot more if you all weren't drunk."

"You, Mr. Worthington, are facing expulsion so I would suggest you stay silent."

He was less than impressed and flexed his wings carelessly.

"What happened?" Logan demanded, stomping over.

The Canadian didn't get more than ten feet away from them before he harshly blew out. "Holy crap, who smells like a drunk sailor?"

"All of them."

"These boys are the stars of our football team!" sputtered Kelly.

"They're also drunk," Logan drawled.

"I should have known this would happen! We let you and your kind in and –"

"You let drunks in here and that's what happens," Eddie commented coldly.

"Out. And don't bother coming back… I hereby expel you!"

Calm certainty filled him. "We'll see about that. Good evening, Principal Kelly."

He walked away, pulling out his cell phone to call his father's lawyer when the thugs that had tried to shove him originally cut off his way back to his friends.

"You aren't going anywhere you –"

"Is dere a problem here, _mes amis_?"

And there standing by his side, looking more like a demon than a high school senior, was Lucien. A huge presence looming behind him was Alexei and the silent, glaring drill sergeant on his other side was Charles.

"You would do well to back away," Alexei advised.

"He's rahght, boys," Lucien said lazily. "Dere's nine o' y'all an' four –"

"Eight," Alana amended fiercely, materializing from the darkness with the other girls.

"Eight," Lucien corrected himself with a polite nod in her direction. "An' dose are bad odds f' y'. Betteh f' y' t' jus' get outta de way."

"Did you just threaten my students, Mr. LeBeau?"

"Ah don' t'reaten people, Monsieur Kelly. Ah give 'em a simple warnin' o' what Ah could do to 'em."

Eddie fought to hide a smirk; Lucien was using his most condescending, arrogant, tone.

"Get. Out!"

So the X-Men were kicked out of the senior prom at 11:21PM. Four cutthroat private lawyers were roused and told to ready themselves for a no hold lawsuit against a discriminatory school. The director of the school board received a call that he and the district were being sued for 7 million dollars at about midnight. The poor girl manning the Wendy's graveyard shift window freaked out as a limo filled with mutant teens pulled up and demanded food at about half past midnight. The limo driver leaned against his limo and smoked his way through his pack as his clients sat on the roof of his vehicle and stared out over the town of Bayville and ate, danced to his radio, and hung out 'til past two AM.

Maybe if the events of the night had played out differently Lucien might have been able to prevent the incident between his sister and the resident Assassin.

_**Venez**_** – "Come on"**

_**Claire Adelaïde LeBeau! Arrêté-le!**_** – "Claire Adelaide LeBeau! Stop that!"**

**AHHHH! What could be happening to Vincent and Noelle?**

**If you are at all interested, the girls' prom dresses are displayed on my home page (the links, anyways).**

**Oh! And don't forget to review – or vote on Sage and Bishop's kid!**


	61. Chapter 61

**Dance competition this weekend… I'm going to be such a zombie next week… Blech.**

**Anyways… here is THE CHAPTER to end all chapters – kinda.**

**Hope you like it!**

Chapter 60

They pulled up to the theater and the driver opened the door to let the dozen plus children stream out, jabbering happily. Monica slid out smoothly, James clambered out, Sarah shot out like a bottle rocket and Vincent climbed out easily.

Noelle waited until Jayden stumbled out clumsily before she made her way out of the car. Vincent was waiting for her, with a hand offered.

She graced him with a smile and a hand, and allowed him to help her up out of the car. This attracted quite a bit of attention.

"Look at that! Isn't he sweet?"

"Please. He's probably gay."

"With a body like that? That's a goddamned waste!"

Vincent started grinding his teeth.

Winding her arm through his just like she had at the museum, she brushed a kiss on his cheek. Light, quick, but it elicited a clearly heterosexual reaction – Vincent turned pink and grinned crookedly.

"Relax, Vince, dey all idiots. Now c'mon."

Unfortunately it wasn't just the people on the sidewalk who had seen her performance, nope; Claire had seen it as well. And judging from the knowing smirk that was forming on her baby sister's face, Noelle didn't see this ending well.

Sure enough, the moment Noelle left Vincent to catch up to Grazi, Saya, Sayuri, and Claire, the first thing out of her soon to be dead sibling's mouth was: "Do Mama an' Daddy know dat y' got a crush on him?"

"Do Mama an' Daddy know about dose books y' got undeh y' bed?"

Claire flushed and scowled darkly up at her. The resemblance to their mother was uncanny, but Noelle was too used to it to pay too much more attention. She turned her focus on helping Storm help herd her children to their seats. Vincent ended up sitting next to her, staring in confusion at his ticket and muttering that he had been absolutely sure that he had been sitting in another spot entirely.

Noelle shot a suspicious glance at Claire. The young Apprentice thief was staring way too innocently at the stage.

Yup, definitely her doing.

Not that Noelle was complaining.

And there in lay the problem.

She liked being around Vincent, liked the feeling of just being near him even when it was just reading or doing homework or working on their bikes. Her skin was starting to catch fire whenever he brushed against her – even when it had been her to initiate the contact. She grinned whenever he did – laughed when he did.

Not that he didn't still annoy the hell out of her sometimes. Like when he had commented on the state of her bike. Her bike. You did not badmouth Noelle LeBeau's bike. It was not nearly as high on her list as, say her mother, but still, insulting her bike was a good way to get cayenne pepper in your coffee. Vincent had gulped milk for ten minutes before he could gasp out that she was a dirty, sneaky Thief and she should go crash land somewhere.

And then there had been the time he had held them all up leaving during the winter as he flirted with about six girls at once. Sitting in a pickup truck in below thirty degree weather had not been pleasant.

But the fact that she still liked him despite all of that – was able to so easily forgive him…

That said something.

And nothing good – or at least nothing good right now.

Vincent had told them himself that his mother was now aware he had not only fully rejected his mission, but also abdicated his post as Prince of Assassins. New Orleans had to be in a state of chaos – her grandfather, Jean-Luc, wasn't the sort to let this sort of opportunity to wreak havoc on the opposing ruling family pass – and according to her father and cousins, it was.

Which meant that Mademoiselle Belladonna would be out for blood; and it wasn't just Noelle's family anymore, it was Vincent's blood she wanted as well.

Noelle was well aware what would happen if the Assassin Guildmistress found out. Nothing good.

She wasn't stupid enough, or selfish enough, to press the issue just because she had the hots for him. If anything was going to happen between them – Vincent would be the one to make that decision and the one to make the first move.

Then the lights dimmed and a tall woman dressed as Rafiki strolled out and belted out the first strains of 'Circle of Life'.

All thoughts of Vincent fell away at the incredible spectacle that was the Lion King on Broadway.

* * *

The limo was filled with chattering happy children, all going on and on about the show.

"My favorite part was the cheetah!" Graziella was saying happily.

"I liked the baby rhino!"

Claire shook her white bangs out of her face. "De lionesses were de best. Didja see da way dey jumped?"

Noelle leaned back into the seats of the limo and crossed her legs.

"Everyone!" Storm called out. "Everyone!"

Noelle stuck two fingers into her mouth and whistled. Silence fell instantly. "De floor's yo's, Stormy."

"Do not call me that.

"Now, I do believe that your good behavior tonight has earned you all ice cream for the ride home."

There was an immediate outcry of delight and soon a bewildered limo driver was pulling through a drive through after receiving roughly twenty-five small ice creams from an equally bewildered Dairy Queen cashier.

And so they began the forty-five minute drive back to Bayville.

* * *

Dairy Queen sugar or no Dairy Queen sugar, the kids didn't last for very long. One by one, they each started nodding off, hands and faces sticky with ice cream.

Vincent himself had just polished off his Chocolate X-treme blizzard and was leaning back to relax before they got back to the Institute. He took a fierce, silent pleasure in Noelle's quiet presence at his side. She was gazing off sleepily into the distance, and he wondered what exactly she saw when she daydreamed like this.

Did she imagine herself flying, riding her bike, maybe… being with him?

He decided he liked the last possibility most.

What would they be doing? He considered for a long moment before settling on a moderately quiet scenario of sitting on the roof watching the sky go by. He would draw and she would just lie quiet beside him, enjoying the sunshine.

Not for the first time, he tried to imagine what would have happened if they had been able to meet that Halloween night. If there had been no shoot out between their two families. He would have found out her name for sure. Would've been quite taken with her – not that he hadn't been the moment he set eyes on her at six years old. He sure as hell wouldn't have been nearly so gullible about Assassins and Thieves if he had been able to meet her before.

But he had been gullible. Gotten himself in a situation that wasn't going to end well no matter which way he spun it. And because of that, he was cut off from what he truly wanted.

He wanted to be normal, damn it. Well, as normal as a mutant could be. He wanted to flirt and date the girls he wanted, and to hell with what family she was from.

As though she had sensed his thoughts, Noelle pushed her body closer to his.

"Dat ain' a good idea, fille jolie," he said hoarsely, his voice strangled by the simple fact that she was so close and… and so… _Noelle_.

"Well, Ah ain' known f' mah good ideas," she mumbled back, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Ah damn well do as Ah please an' Ah advise ot'ers t' do de same. Lahfe's too short t' pussyfoot roun' what y' wan'."

"I am doin' what I wan'."

She yawned. "_Menteur_."

"I hate y'." No, he didn't – this would have been so much easier if he did.

"Y' lyin'… Y' love meh." She turned her head up look at him, smiling. And then, suddenly, she wasn't smiling. "Oh shit. Y' in love wit' meh."

* * *

Noelle was floored. One hundred percent, utterly floored.

See? There was a reason she didn't go emotion-surfing in people's heads. She rarely found anything that soothed people's nerves.

But for a moment she had let her shields falter and a little tendril of Vincent's feelings drifted in. And it packed a hell of a wallop. This was no little crush, nor was it the lust hidden by admiration like she had felt from Denzel.

It was… longing… desire in a way that somehow included and yet totally excluded sexuality. It was fear and comfort, desperation and contentment…

_Oh Saint Mère dans Ciel_…

Her own heart rose so desperately to the surface it actually hurt a little. _Take what y' wan' in dis world, _petite_. Touch da stars, cause y' may be de only one who can._

She tilted her head to one side. "Y' coulda timed dis betteh, _tu sais_."

There was raw panic flowing off of him in waves. "Don' know what y' talkin' about."

Noelle rolled her eyes. "Don' dey teach y' Assassins t' lie? I' seems da longer y' stay here, da worse y' get at lyin'. Y' used t' lie lahke a pro. Wha' happened?"

Vincent was now wildly swinging his gaze around the darkened limo – it was really a miracle that Storm hadn't picked up on his agitation – looking anywhere but at her.

"Dis wasn't s'pposed t' happen," he muttered at last.

She didn't need to ask what 'dis' was. "But it did, didn' it?"

He glared at her. "Y' did somet'in' t' m-"

It was only the presence of the two dozen other people in the vehicle that kept her from reaching out and strangling him. "If y' still t'inkin' dat, y' really are still jus' an Assassin."

He colored instantly. "I didn' meant dat."

"Ah know." And she did.

But that didn't mean she wasn't going to keep pushing. "So when were y' gon' t' tell meh? O' were y' jus' goin' keep it locked up 'til somet'in' catastrophic, lahke in dose stupid love movies?"

Aha! Direct hit to a nerve.

"If I did say somet'in' t' y' Noelle, wha' d'y' t'ink would happen? Y' t'ink our families would leave us alone? Come t'gether peacefully? Dey tried dat befo' an' y' know how it ended? One man dead, anot'er man exiled, an' de rest o' da city in civil war!"

She knew that. She had agonized over that. But she also knew this: "Vincent, if dere's one t'ing Ah've learned from _mes parentes_, i's dis. Sometimes, dere's not'in' available t' y' but crappy choices. An' den y' have t' make a choice between wha's rahght an' what y' wan'."

Here she looked directly into his eyes. There was no empathy behind it, just solid fact. "An' sometimes, dose two choices're one in de same. So tell meh, what do you want?"

Vincent didn't answer. He tried; he opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

Then closed it again. "I don' know."

* * *

They got back to the Institute at around midnight.

Vincent, however, was in no mood to celebrate. Somehow, being in that limo had made it seem like time had stopped. Like he had all the time in the world to plan out his next move.

She knew. She knew. She knew. Holy crap was he in trouble.

At least she didn't seem angry – she had actually seemed quite… not angry…

But now they were back at the Institute and time had jumpstarted with a vengeance. Suddenly there were children who needed to be taken up to bed, a limo driver to thank and a Professor to reassure (apparently there was legal trouble brewing between the school and Eddie Worthington, pft, the school was going to lose big time).

And there were decisions to be made.

So he dutifully assured the Professor that everything had gone fine, besides the squawk of terror some woman had made when she had gotten a glimpse of Graziella's cat eyes. He shook the limo driver's hand.

He helped put the children to bed.

Finally, the last door closed on a roomful of sleepy, tucked-in children and he was done.

Noelle sighed deeply from where she stood a few feet away. "T'ank y' f' comin' wit' us, Vince."

"Don' call me Vince."

She tilted her head back to look up at him. Several errant auburn curls fell into her eyes and she snapped her head fruitlessly to get them out of her way. "_Pourquoi pas_?"

In the moment that his mind told him that she wasn't talking about his nickname, his mind went oddly blank. His tongue had frozen and his eyes were locked on the stubborn locks brushing against her nose, cheeks, her eyelashes, her… lips.

Was she doing this to him?

No. No, this was all him.

His hand came up.

Noelle's eyes instantly zeroed in on his reaching fingers.

He touched her forehead softly and brushed the bangs gently behind her ear.

He was very close to her. He was close to magnolias and a hint of spices and vanilla and open air, and even the lightest drop of motor oil. He was close to clear grey-green eyes that were gleaming silvery-emerald, all surrounded by thick, black lashes.

He traced her ear, feeling the glittering coldness of her diamond earrings juxtaposed with the yielding warmth of her skin.

His hand travelled over to her cheek, the back of his hand caressing.

There was a vague thought in the back of his head about how utterly stupid this was… but he couldn't look away from the beautiful face in front of him.

Noelle's eyes had closed at some point and she was now leaning into his touch.

His other hand came up and touched her slender shoulder. This contact released his thoughts in a rush and the shock of it all made him clench his grip on her.

What the hell was he doing? Had he utterly lost his mind? She was a Thief, he was an Assassin! This was only going to end badly, and it probably wasn't going to last very long anyways.

And then a little voice in the back of his mind, the feeling that been growing inside of him the day they had rescued Sofy, spoke up. The little feeling that had been born the day a little girl had fished him out of a canal. It cut through everything with three little words: "I don' care."

By now, Noelle had opened her eyes and was looking at him cautiously. "Vincent –"

He didn't care about families. Or his mother. Or what could happen. Or anything else.

So he kissed her.

It was soft and undemanding, and it didn't last very long.

Vincent pulled away and nervously awaited a scream, a slap, or dismemberment. But Noelle stood very still in front of him, eyes closed and head tilted back to him. She didn't look like she was angry, rather, she looked ready to be kissed again.

"Ah know y' kin do betteh den dat…"

Never one to disappoint a beautiful girl, he kissed her again, harder than before. She instantly responded; her arms curled around his neck, he felt her head tilt, her chest pressed against his, and her mouth opened.

Holy shit on a shingle, he had forgotten just how well this girl could kiss.

He could taste the sweetness of ice cream on her tongue mixed with her own incredible, addicting taste.

He ran his hand up and down her spine, feeling the graceful interplay of her muscles.

The smell of her hair, her skin… _her_… was making his head swim.

He drew away from her mouth and tried to get at her neck – did her skin taste as good as her mouth?

"No."

Vincent stopped. His eyes snapped open and her hold around his neck was the only thing keeping him from bolting.

Noelle looked up at him, her lips swollen and her lipstick smeared.

"_Désole_," he muttered, trying to back away. "I shouldn't o'-"

She silenced him with a single look. "Don' apologize, Vincent. As wasn' exactly fightin' y', was Ah? Ah jus' got dis one rule."

Partly to keep his hands occupied, but mostly to keep from having to look at her, he began to fiddle with the cross around her neck. "An' wha's yo' rule?"

"Ah don' let jus' anybody give meh hickeys. Y' got y' be mah cardcarryin' _petit ami_."

Hmmm… was it possible for a heart to pound out of a chest? If so, he was in major trouble. "Oh."

She shrugged. "So… sorry…"

Vincent knew what he needed to do. "Would y'… _voudrais vous être ma petite-amie?_"

It was always so much easier to spit out words in French.

Noelle, however, had gone incredibly tense against him. "No' jus' f' a hickey. Ah ain' goin' t'rough anot'er Denzel."

White hot fury churned his stomach at the memory of the bastard who had hurt this (his) beautiful girl.

"Vincent?" She was eyeing him cautiously.

"I'm okay. But… y' didn' answer my question."

"Ah guess Ah didn'. But humor meh f' jus' one mo' question."

"_D'accord_."

"Why should Ah date y'?"

Hmmm… That was a damn good question.

So good it took him a moment to answer. "'Cause I… I really like y'. Y' mus' like me too if y' let me kiss y'. We friends… an' … y' should do it 'cause y' wan' to."

"Dose are all de rahght answers. Now Ah jus' got one mo'. Wha's _ta mère_ gon' say?"

This question was so easy he didn't even have to think about it. "Don' care. She ain' got da right t' tell me anyt'in' anymo'."

Noelle gave him such a smile that his insides lit up like a Christmas tree. "Well den, Ah formally accept yo' request. Now git oveh heah, yo' technique needs work."

* * *

She was lying through her teeth.

This man was a phenomenal kisser.

Especially when he did – that!

After an insanely long time, and yet not long enough, he released her and smirked. "How was dat?"

The young woman gave him a critical once over, taking in his broad shoulders, lean body, long legs, powerful arms, handsome face and fierce dark blue eyes. "Ah kin work wit' dis."

Vincent scoffed. "Y' c'n do mo' den dat."

Smirking up at him, Noelle kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Y' awful confident f' someone who's gon' have t' tell _mon frère et mon père_ dat we datin'. An' den dere's Wolverine."

And with that, she winked at him and sauntered to her room. "Nahghty-nahght Vincent."

Closing the door, it occurred to her that this was probably the stupidest thing she had ever done – including taking Wolverine's bike out for a joyride.

It then occurred to her that she didn't give a flying rat's ass.

Though she wasn't going to enjoy telling her parents this.

But then, she decided as she was climbing into bed, if anyone knew what a mess falling in love could be, it was her parents.

**And there you have it.**

**Nothing more to be said.**

**Review!**

_**Menteur**_** – "Liar"**

_**Oh Saint Mère dans Ciel**_** – "Oh Holy Mother in Heaven"**

_**tu sais**_** – "you know"**

_**Pourquoi pas**_** – "Why not?"**

_**petit ami**_** – "boyfriend"**

_**voudrais vous être ma petite-amie?**_** – "Would you like to be my girlfriend?"**


	62. Chapter 62

**And here it is!**

**Happy Thanksgiving – yes I am aware I am way late but finals are almost upon me!**

**Expect more updates during the holidays!**

Chapter 61

Lucien LeBeau considered himself to be a very levelheaded individual. He had been trained to keep his head in any situation. The walls closing in on him, the stove catching on fire, a Sentinel moving in to crush him, Wolverine charging him…

He could – and had – handled it all.

So imagine his surprise walking into the kitchen on the Sunday after prom night and walking straight into a chair, tripping on said chair, and smashing into the table. Why? Because he had been unable to take his eyes away from the incredibly shocking sight of his sister with her back to a counter kissing Vincent Boudreaux so fervently it looked like she was trying to taste his tonsils.

The resulting crash made the two teens (alone in the kitchen together, he might add) jump a mile. At least his aching ribs had gotten them to put some distance between each other.

"Lucien!" Noelle gasped, hurrying over to where he was lying painfully on the hard, tile floor. "Are y' okay?"

"Peachy," he deadpanned, sitting up. "Care t' tell meh wha' y' were jus' doin'?"

It was only years of growing up with his sister that allowed him to catch a glimpse of the understanding that flashed in her eyes, and the lightest flush tinged her cheeks. She knew exactly what he was talking about.

And judging by the way Vincent was alternating between looking very nervous to looking very defiant, he knew as well.

"Ah was jus' kissin' Vincent."

Great, she was going to drag this out… play dumb until he grew disgusted and either said it himself so she didn't have to or gave up and abandoned the topic.

But Lucien was just as stubborn as sister, not to mention that he had plenty of years' experience in dealing with her, so he merely continued with his interrogation. "Why?"

At this point, Vincent decided to join the conversation. "'Cause she's mah girlfriend."

Well… he hadn't expected _that_.

There was a long moment of silence. If this had been a movie, there would have been crickets in the background as tumbleweed rolled by.

Then…

"_OH MY GOD! IT FINALLY HAPPENED!"_

The three Cajuns jumped as Julia Alvers and Kelsey Crisp came barreling into the room to throw their arms around the new couple.

"This totally calls for a celebration!" Julia squealed. "I'll make pancakes!"

"NO!" was the instantaneous response and the culinary menace was quickly ejected from the kitchen, leaving an overly excited Kelsey to whoop and spark lightening.

"It's about time! I mean, seriously, we all thought we were going to have to lock you both in a closet to get you all to kiss – oh my God, I haven't seen you kiss yet! Let's see, go on!"

Both Noelle and Vincent stood there, staring at her as one stares at someone who is eating a bowl full of paste.

* * *

Noelle didn't even need to use her empathy to know who was behind the door. However, she took her time brushing hair and pulling on her clothes: today, jean cutoffs and a hunter green camisole.

Then she opened the door on her less than thrilled brother. "_Bonjour, mon frère_."

Lucien wasted no time in getting down to the heart of the matter. "Are y' outta y' mahnd?"

"I's entirely possible," she said agreeably.

He grabbed her arm and forced her to face him. "Dis ain' a tahme f' jokes, Noelle! Y' got any idea o' what dis could lead to?"

She met his eye, "Death, torture, an' de annihilation o' da family. An' dat's jus' in _la ville_."

"How could y' –"

The young woman slapped a hand to her brother's chest and let an emotion stream between them. "Feel dat?"

"Whoa…"

"Dat's whah Ah said yes. Ain' dat a good reason?"

He sighed deeply and brushed her hand away. "Ah gotta say, _petite_, Ah hate it when y' got a good reason f' somet'in'."

She shrugged and gave a sheepish smile. "Not lahke Ah planned f' dis t' happen."

The older teen arched an eyebrow at her. "Not even a little?"

"Ah t'ought about it – maybe y' ain' noticed, but he's a go'geous bit o' –"

"_Merci, mais_ Ah don' need t' know dat."

Chuckling, Noelle continued, "But now dis is happenin' an' dis is da kinda t'ing y' cain' jus' let pass y' by."

She ducked her head so she could directly meet her older brother's eyes. "_Comprends, mon frère?_"

Lucien looked at her for a long moment before sighing deeply and scrubbing a hand through his dark hair. "Mama an' Daddy ain' gon' lahke dis."

"Dey don' got to. Ah'm a big girl – Ah kin make mah own choices."

"De las' tahme y' said dat, Ah ended up fishin' y' outta da bayou wit' Etienne."

A flush crawled up the back of her neck. "Dat branch had rotten from de insahde – y' know Ah couldn' see it!"

"All Ah kin say, _chérie_, hope dis turns out to be a strong branch rather den a rotten one."

"So do Ah."

* * *

Vincent was quite delighted to find that being Noelle's boyfriend was actually very easy. She wasn't the type to randomly decide she needed thirty pairs of new shoes like Julia did. She had no interest in discussing feelings and 'where we're going' like Monica did with James (his roommate had taken to hiding under his bed whenever his girlfriend had what he called the 'talk walk'). They could still argue – and argue they did.

"Don' be blamin' me dat dey still followin' y'!" she had shouted at him.

They had just arrived at the Institute after being held up at the school. First it had been Principal Kelly, who seemed to be determined to have his revenge on them all for the Worthington family suing the school district 3.7 million dollars for discrimination. The old bigot had tried to give them detention for 'inappropriate public displays of affection', something that Vincent skillfully undermined by pointing out the star soccer player making out with his girlfriend, his hand well hidden under the girl's shirt. Groping a girl on school property didn't seem to outdo having your arm around another girl's waist.

Then the two had been swarmed by Vincent's groupies. Vincent found that though he enjoyed the attention, he didn't like them making the usual scathing comments about Noelle.

Noelle, who seemed more amused by them than jealous.

Somehow, this made him even angrier and he ended up snapping at the stupid, flirtatious girls to leave him the hell alone.

And then he had to deal with Noelle who told him to stop being an idiot. By the time they got to the two gleaming bikes, one green, one black, they were all but shouting at each other.

The drive to the Institute had not calmed either of them and they were both still ready to fight when they got back.

The ball was in Vincent's court: "Den don' be yellin' at me when I tell 'em t' get da hell away from me!"

Now Noelle's: "Maybe y' ain' understandin' dis concept, but Ah try an' explain it t' y'. Y' cain' jus' flirt an' string a bunch o' girls along f' mo' den six months an' den expec' dem t' jus' stop immediately. I's y' own fault."

Vincent: "How's it my fault?"

And she had looked up at him with a fierce look. "Dis is what y' get when y' act lahke a man-whore."

That had not helped matters.

"Damn it, girl, didn' y' hear what dey were callin' y'?"

"What? Whore, slut, desperate, easy? _Mon ami_, Ah've heard it all befo' an' Ah'm a big girl. Ah kin take care o' mahself."

"But dey –"

"Vincent. Ah don' care what dey were doin'."

"What about what I do?"

She grinned, stepped forwards and laced her fingers through his. Leaning close and brushing his ear with her lips, she said very softly, "'Cause Ah know dat y' mahne. Y' heart's mahne. Ah ain' worried."

Needless to say that argument ended on a pleasant note. Not that all of them did.

But still. It felt good to know that their… relationship wasn't a fairytale Romeo and Juliet thing – after all, you never heard of princes and their princesses fighting after the 'happily ever after' was said.

It also felt good that they could actually have a conversation, even when it was just when they were helping Wolverine and Forge tune up the Blackbird or any of the cars (Forge was now talking about adding a Turbo setting 2.8 on every car and motorcycle in the garage).

But there was also the fact that they could sit in comfortable silence. Vincent loved it that Noelle could sit and read while he sketched or did homework – that she didn't always have to be talking with him.

It all made telling Wolverine about their new relationship almost bearable.

* * *

"So…" Noelle said, supporting him as they staggered out of the Danger Room. "Dat wasn' so bad."

Vincent stared at her. He had a chunk missing from his leg, his arm was hanging awkwardly and he was fairly sure he had a concussion and a handful of cracked vertebrae. She had four deep gashes at her throat – miraculously she had twisted at the last moment to avoid getting her jugular sliced. "Tell me _chère_. Wha' exactly d' y' consider bad?"

She gave him a lopsided smile. "Bein' dead. Dat's neveh good."

"Y' been dead befo'?"

"Cain' say Ah've eveh had dat pleasure."

They reached the med bay and it opened to see Sage sitting on the examining table with her shirt drawn up to show her relatively flat stomach.

Noelle helped Vincent over to an empty bed, before turning to the expectant mother. "How y' feelin', _Mam'selle_?"

"I am quite satisfactory. The morning sickness has been steadily receding – though as I have been having Lucas cleaning out the toilet every time I must purge, it has been a bit disheartening."

Vincent gagged at the thought of scrubbing a puked-in toilet.

"Ah'm glad t' see y' back on firs' name terms," Noelle said diplomatically.

"I was told it is impolite to order someone to scrub your toilet by their last name. It puts them on a lower level than you."

Noelle nodded, as though she had the slightest clue what the hell Tessa was talking about.

"However, I am still quite adamant about keeping him under surveillance."

"Well now, Tessa." Beast suddenly appeared, holding a clipboard. "Everything seems to be going very – Good God, Vincent! What happened to you!"

It took two hours to get out of the med bay, even with Vincent protesting that he would be healed by tomorrow afternoon anyway. The young Assassin looked like a mummy by the time they left.

"Day at school wit' Principal Kelly, gettin' mobbed by all dose damn girls, an' now Wolvie's insane trainin' sessions. How could life g't any better?"

His girlfriend scrunched up her nose. "F' God's sake, ain' y' learned any betteh den t' tempt fate? Y' don' ask dat!"

"How could it possibly g't worse?"

"Ferme-la. Watch now, y' family's gon' drop a bomb on da house."

He couldn't help it; he started laughing. Then he had to start gasping because his ribs had not appreciated his laughing.

* * *

On the whole, Noelle felt her parents took the news quite well. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the phone line went dead and her mother called her not thirty seconds later to inform her that her father had accidently charged and exploded the phone.

It had taken twenty minutes to talk the two down – both of her parents were all in favor of coming and beating the shit out of her new boyfriend.

Noelle informed them that she would quite cheerfully disown the two of them if they dared do any such thing.

Finally, her mother had backed down. "Well, sugah, you know yoar heart better than anybody else."

Her father was not so accepting. "His ass is mine if he hurts y', _petite_."

"Well he ain', so keep off his ass. I's mahne."

And she hung up and quickly turned off her phone.

Mission Inform the Parents was a success.

* * *

The rec room of the Institute was full of laughter, though there was a core of silence in one corner.

Alexei watched as James Allerdyce was slowly and steadily being destroyed by Vincent Boudreaux.

The weapon? Chess pieces.

"Check."

The Brit scowled at the board. There were twice as many of the white pieces (Vincent) as there were of the black pieces (James).

"Wha's goin' on?" Lucien asked, abruptly appearing with Eddie.

"I beatin' da crap out o' Jimmy-boy over here."

"_C'est vrai?"_ The Thief sauntered over and stared for a long moment at the board.

Alexei could see the wheels rolling in his friend's head. A slow, wicked grin made its way across his face; his best friend was the best chess player in the Institute (not counting the Professor). If anyone could get out of the mess James had made, it was Luke.

"_Dis me, James_," Luke said conversationally. "How bad d' y' wan' win?"

"Very much," James said through gritted teeth as he scowled at the board.

"Den do 'xactly as Ah say."

And in five minutes, the tide of the chess game shifted.

Vincent's triumphant smirk melted into a fiercely concentrated stare and there was suddenly a crowd around them as Assassin and Thief (via James) played against each other.

Lucien's brown eyes wandered lazily over the knights and queens, then said something quietly to James.

The Brit reached forward and moved his remaining knight.

Vincent scowled at the board. He moved a rook.

A bishop.

A knight took a rook.

Alexei watched the board, a feeling of slow amusement coming over as Lucien slowly and shrewdly maneuvered his opponent into a corner.

Somewhere during this time Noelle appeared in the crowd. Alexei glanced at her and smiled at the eager look on her face; Noelle loved watching people play chess. And cards. As her eyes took in the miniature battlefield of chess pieces, the smirk she shared with her brother spread across her face.

She knew how this was going to end.

And sure enough: "An' dat's checkmate."

Vincent's mouth fell open as he stared at his king, which was being menaced by a queen, a rook, a knight and a pawn. He was affectively beaten.

Lucien allowed himself to be clapped on the back by James before looking at Vincent. "_Malchance, garçon_. Mebbe nex' tahme."

"Where'd dat come from? How'd y' …"

Noelle laughed easily and ruffled her brother's red-brown hair. "_Mon frère_ learned t' play when he was six. _Mon grand-père_ showed him how t' play."

"Anot'er o' his gran' schemes o' manipulation. But yeah, Ah ain' so bad. Been playin' wit' de old men in _la ville_ f' too long t' be anyt'in' but good."

"Good's beatin' Papa. Y' beat Hank. Dat makes y' one o' de best."

James grinned. "Well I am certainly quite grateful!"

Vincent scowled darkly. "I bet, _mon ami_."

No one missed the fierce, combative tone in the young man's voice. It had the same growl as when Wolverine faced down Sabretooth.

Lucien tensed. Noelle went still.

Then the Assassin Prince whipped his head up, a ready grin on his face. "Le'see if y' c'n do dat a secon' time, T'ief boy."

Noelle laughed.

Lucien smirked. "I's yo' funeral Assassin-boy."

* * *

Marius crouched just outside the walls of the freak school, a camera in his hands.

He felt rather sick. It had taken two and a half hours for the wireless camcorder in the trees to catch sight of his cousin, Vincent, whom he hadn't seen since Christmas. And what was his first sight of his favorite cousin?

The bastard had been walking down an open hall with the daughter of the _Diable Blanc_, his head bent towards her and his eyes soft. There was only one reason for a man to look at a woman like that.

His suspicions had only been confirmed when Vincent bent and brushed a kiss on the girl's cheek.

Slipping his earpiece into place, he heard:

"Ah tol' y' dat y' wouldn' win, didn' Ah?"

"I didn' play 'cause I t'ought I could win. I played cause I ain' lost a game in years."

"A chess master an' a great artist… What a combination."

"No' so great. Couldn' beat y' brother, could I?"

"Nobody but de _Profeseur_ c'n beat him. Don' feel bad. Ah ain' eveh beaten him."

"Ever?"

"Eveh."

"Dat's depressin'."

Marius had to swallow bile as the Thief bitch took his Prince's hand and laughed.

"Le'see if we cain' make lahfe a little less depressin'."

"How we gon' do dat?"

"Y' mean dat b'tween da two o' us we cain' figure out somet'in' t' do?"

"I hope y' ain' talkin' 'bout sex."

The Thief girl tossed her hair boldly. "_Mais non!_ Y' don' have sex da firs' week! Wha' d'y' take meh fo'?"

Vincent laughed. "Mebbe y' c'd teach me how t' cook."

Marius reached down and pulled his cell from his pocket. The Guildmistress had to know…

No sooner had he pulled the phone from his pocket then it was suddenly sliced in two. Whipping his head up, the Assassin came face to face with two hard-faced strangers.

One was a tough, grizzled looking man with wild, dark hair and even wilder dark eyes.

The other was a slender young woman with dark brown hair and emerald green eyes as cold and merciless as gemstones.

Each one had metal claws protruding from their knuckles.

"You picked the wrong house, bub."

* * *

"Well?"

"'S happened, Guildmistress. Marius' phone wen' dead."

"How?"

"'S almos' like it was cut in half."

"I see… Didja get de las' images fo' it wen' dead?"

"Jus' one."

"Put it up."

…

"Take dat shit down. Now."

"_Oui_ –"

"An' pass de word. Vincent Boudreaux is exiled. From dis family. From _la ville_. He dead t' us.

"An' den he be dead t' everybody else too."

"Wha' d'y' mean…"

"Nobody betrays Belladonna Boudreaux an' gets away wit' it. _Venez_. We got work t' do."

"What're we –"

"I's time f' a trial. An' we gon' have an execution."

* * *

"Please! I have money! I have women! Take what you want! Just let me live!"

"Aw…see… if I gave mercy away… I'd have more! Or less… Ah, well, I flunked outta high school math anyways."

"Please! I have children!"

"Cool, so do I! Wanna compare snapsho – "

Silence.

"Ummm… Sir…"

Swish.

Chunk.

"Shush. My Spidey-sense is tingling."

Plip. Plip. Plip.

"What do you think?"

…

"Yeah… once the head separates from the body people don't have much to say. Later!"

**Uh-oh.**

**This could be bad…**

**Do you know what's going to happen? **

**NEITHER DO I! ARGH! WRITER'S BLOCK!**

_**la ville**_** – "the city" which refers to New Orleans, of course**

_**Comprends, mon frère? **_**– "Do you understand, my brother?"**

_**C'est vrai?**_** – "Is it true?" or "Really?"**

_**Dis me, James**_** – "Tell me, James"**

_**Malchance, garçon**_** – "Bad luck, boy"**

_**Diable Blanc **_**– "White Devil" the nickname Remy had when he was a kid**

_**Mais non!**_** – "Of course not!"**

_**Venez**_** – "Come"**


	63. Chapter 63

**And here is the next chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 62

Marius woke up on an airplane with a stabbing headache and no idea where he was heading.

Just as he was about to flag down a flight attendant to ask what was going on, the pilot's voice echoed through the compartment. "We are now descending at Louis Armstrong Airport, New Orleans, Louisiana –"

"When'd I leave _la ville_?"

His pockets were empty except for a plane ticket stub and a crisp fifty dollar bill. He frowned. Since when did he carry so much money in a single bill?

What was going on?

He had no cellphone, and no memory of… when was this anyway?

He checked his ticket. He choked.

He had lost a week.

What the hell?

* * *

The Professor folded his hands on his desk and directed a stern glare at Logan, Laura, Hank, Ororo, and Cyclops. "He didn't have any information beyond that Vincent's mother will be looking for revenge. I suggest we be very careful in the coming days."

"We should tell the kid. It is his family. And telling Lucien and his sisters wouldn't be such a bad idea, either."

"No. They don't need to know. The spy's memory has been erased and he is back on a plane to New Orleans with no harm done. I will monitor everything from Cerebro and we have sufficient information coming out of New Orleans. Let them enjoy their last week in school."

Logan looked dubious. "Whatever you say, Chuck."

* * *

It was deliciously warm on the day when the word came that Principal Kelly was going on a 'sabbatical' while the Worthingtons sued the school district. The children were running joyously through the sprinklers while Noelle and Vincent watched easily. The older students were darting around in the pool or sunbathing contentedly.

Sage sat on a chair and ran her hand over her stomach. She was approximately thirteen weeks pregnant. Her breasts were swelling, her stomach was growing, and she just felt fat. On the upside, her morning sickness was gone, she was having fewer and fewer mood swings (to the relief of everyone), and her libido was up and ready to go.

She hadn't needed Hank to tell her that her baby (still a he/she for the moment) was developing his/her vocal cord and larynx, nor that the skull and bones were solidifying or that the teeth sockets were fully ready to pop out when it came time for the baby to teeth, or even that her baby now weighed approximately 20 grams and was about 3 inches long.

What she did need for him to tell her was what to do about Lucas Bishop. The man was still insisting on staying at the Institute, looking after his child he said.

Tessa knew that what he was waiting for was her forgiveness. Not that he ever asked – he only slept on the floor like a dog in the room they shared (there was no space for him in the Institute and he point blank refused to bunk in one of the guest/married instructors' cabins) and did as she asked.

Even now he was sitting at a table, watching everything with a keen eye. He had been tenser than ever since they had caught one of Vincent's relatives just on the outside of the Institute. Alone of course; no one trusted him anymore since the SHIELD fiasco.

And that was how it was going to stay.

* * *

The next day was the first day of the final week of school. Come Saturday, Eddie, Charles, Lucien, and Alexei were going to graduate. Charles and Alexei had already applied to go to NYU (Charles so he could stay close to the Institute and help his father 'keep order', and Alexei for the simple pleasure of the History Department at NYU) Eddie was of course going to attend the University of Pennsylvania for a Business degree, and Lucien had been accepted into the School of Physics at the University of San Francisco.

The last week of high school was shaping up very nicely. Principal Kelly was gone for the rest of the year – hopefully forever – and had been replaced with a rather stern, but tolerant middle-aged man named Mr. Messina. Most of the drunken seniors had been arrested after they had crashed into a light pole after leaving prom so the graduating population was rather subdued and not up to insulting and discriminating against the mutants. Also in their favor was the school's unofficial policy to do absolutely zip during the last week of school but take attendance at the beginning of every class and then let the students loose with the warning of 'don't burn down the school'.

The only thing left to do was take final exams – unless you had taken the AP exam for that class, in which case they figured you had suffered enough.

So in lieu of sitting through _Amadeus_ (Mr. Curry had an unhealthy obsession with Mozart) Vincent sprawled across the bleachers with James, Monica, Kelsey, Alexei, Sofy, and Edward. In deference to the fierce shine of the sun overhead, none of them had even looked at a pair of jeans. Monica wore a sundress – with James' full approval – while the guys had all chosen shorts and T-shirts.

No one said much, preferring to relax and sunbath.

"Here y'all are!"

Noelle appeared abruptly, floating into view. Today she had gone with a green halter top, short pale brown shorts, and a pair of high heeled brown sandals. Simple, casual, and yet one of the best things he had ever seen.

"T'ought y' AP Bio teacher was makin' y' do a report on an animal."

"Nah – Miss O'Malley jus' found out yesterday dat her boyfrien' wan's t' make her Mrs. Stewart."

Kelsey's eyes popped. "A teacher's getting married?"

"That's sooo romantic!" squealed Monica.

Noelle had a more pragmatic view. "An' convenient. She's so happy she ain' gon' give us any homework – too busy plannin' her weddin'."

"Good news for you."

"Ah'll say."

"So when do your parents get into town, Noelle?" Monica asked, closing her eyes against the sun.

"Not 'til Saturday. _Père_'s got some family stuff t' take care of 'fo dey kin leave. What about yo's?"

Vincent's brain had gone utterly numb. Noelle's parents were coming into town? The Rogue? _Le Diable Blanc?_ The people his mother had made the monsters of his nightmares as a child?

He could hear the message still securely saved in his cellphone's memory in his mind - _Et savez si vous faites mal à mes filles, moi et ma femme allons tuer vos à la façon pire nous pouvons rêver de. __Au revoir. _

And now they were coming here?

"Wasamattah, sugah?" Noelle had caught sight of his horrified face.

"Y' failed t' mention yo' parents're comin'."

She frowned. "Didn' t'ink Ah needed to, _cher_. Lucien _is_ graduatin' afteh all. Don' worreh, dey know 'bout us."

Vincent could feel his lunch begin to churn in his stomach. "An' how'd they take it?"

"Yo' still alahve, ain'cha?"

Oh, that was reassuring. "Details, Noelle!"

She sighed, shook her bangs out of her eyes, and elaborated. "Bot' o' dem were plen'y surprised an' Ah won' preten' dat _mon père_ was thrilled wit' de idea."

"He's gon' kill meh, isn' he?"

"Maim y' mebbe, but not kill y'."

"Joy." He wondered how long it would take for him to regrow a limb that had been blasted off.

"Hey." Noelle knocked her shoulder lightly against his. "Relax, will y'? Dey won' do anyt'in' t' y'."

"An' why's dat?"

She gave him that smile – the one that made his insides squeeze deliciously – and cocked her head. "'Cause dey know Ah lahke y'."

"Really?" He scooched a little closer.

She grinned. "Easy wit' da sap, cher. Ah t'ink we makin' James gag."

"Damn right you are!"

Vincent didn't even bother to turn around when he playfully flipped his best friend off. "Don' recall complainin' when y' were makin' out wit' Monica on my bed."

"You were doing _what_?" Eddie half-screeched, whipping around to stare at his younger sister and her boyfriend.

"We were acting like boyfriend and girlfriend, thank you," Monica snapped. "Like you would be if you had a girlfriend!"

No one missed the rather sad, longing look Eddie sent Kelsey. No one but Kelsey.

Rolling his eyes at this latest bit of high school drama, Vincent sprawled back on the bleachers and closed his eyes lazily against the sun as Noelle lay on the bench above him on her front.

Life was good.

* * *

Alexei's parents were the first to arrive. Their flight from Russia (Noelle shuddered at the thought of spending ten whole hours on a plane) came in at 11:45AM on the Wednesday before graduation which meant the first thing Sofy and Lucien saw when they got off Lucien's bike was the huge form of Piotr Rasputin.

Noelle had watched with some amusement as her brother eyed his girlfriend's father cautiously even as he climbed off his bike and then helped Sofy off.

Sofy, of course, rushed to her father, threw her arms around him and started jabbering Russian a mile a minute. She finally ended with an English, "And this is my boyfriend Lucien! You remember – the one I have told you about!"

Piotr Rasputin was an old friend of Papa's, but even Noelle felt vaguely intimidated. He was as big as his son, and maybe even a bit wider at the shoulders than Alexei. His face was stern but rather kind, though at the moment, he was looking Lucien over with an expression of intense dubiousness.

"You are Lucien."

"Ah am, _Monsieur_ Rasputin. Nahce t' see y' again."

It was only because Noelle knew him so well that she could detect that Lucien was lying. He wasn't upset to see Mr. Rasputin, but he sure as hell wasn't pleased to see older man looming over him.

"You are the mirror image of your father. Except the eyes."

"So Ah've heard."

"You are dating my daughter?"

"Ah am."

There was a moment of long silence.

That was her cue to enter.

"Lucien! _Maman _wan'ed y' t' call her when y' got home."

Her brother looked at her. He knew she was lying. Knew she was offering him an out.

He smiled lightly at her. "Ah call her lateh… T'anks."

She grinned at him. Lucien was a good man… good at life and heart. He was very much taken by Sofya and it wouldn't be long before her stupid older brother realized that he was in love with the young Russian girl. He treated her properly (he should after being raised by their parents) and would put her before himself in any situation. And if Piotr Rasputin had half a brain, he should be over the moon that his daughter had decided to take up with a man like her brother.

And if the big guy decided against giving his approval… well then, he would just have to suck it up because there wasn't a single person in this house (except for the Summers men who didn't really count) who didn't think that her brother and Sofy were a good match.

With that comforting thought, she gave the huge Colossus a nod and a smirk that made the man blink several times and eye her warily.

The look she had inherited from her father did tend to make people nervous.

* * *

Lucien watched his sister go, vaguely wishing he could go with her. Sofy's hackles were starting to rise and he had no wish to cause a fight.

"Your sister." It wasn't a question.

"Yup."

"She reminds me very much of…"

"_Mon père_?"

"Yes."

"Well, she's definitely as crazy as he is."

"Is she?"

"Yup. But dat ain' wha' we were talkin' about, was it?"

The man eyed with a fierce grey-blue glare.

"Papa!" Sofy interrupted. "Do not be rude!"

"What are your intentions towards my daughter?"

"PAPA!" shrieked his girlfriend in mortification.

"Ah intend t' treat Sofy jus' as she deserves."

He could see this had gratified him to the other man slightly, but it was also obvious that Colossus was determined to find something wrong with him.

"And what do you think she deserves?"

Lucien was fighting not to roll his eyes and thanked God when Sofy interrupted in a spurt of Russian snarls and curses that had her father on his heels.

It took less than five minutes for a thoroughly beaten Colossus to admit defeat to his daughter, shake Lucien's hand, muttering that it had been very nice to finally meet him and he would like to wish him congratulations on his impending graduation.

"Sofy-_chère_, y' are truly a goddess," Lucien told his girlfriend fervently, even as he drew her closer for some serious making out.

* * *

James flicked his lighter open and closed rhythmically.

It was Thursday, and he was studiously _not_ hiding from Monica's family. The tall blond man with the great white wings had certainly not made him want to hide. The elegant woman with distinct Asian features, long black hair and great violet eyes did not make him want to get down and beg for mercy. And the fierce looking young man with his black hair in a military buzz cut did not make him want to wet himself.

"Y' are scared o' yo' own girlfriend's paren's," Vincent commented flatly from where he was painting in a patch of sunlight.

"I am not!"

"Sho. Dat's why y' hidin' in Mam'selle Ororo's greenhouse."

"I am not hiding!"

"Wha' d'y' call dis den?"

The Brit scowled at his Cajun friend. "I'm… choosing… to… spend time with my best mate!"

Vincent raised an eyebrow and made a sarcastic hand motion. "Smooth, _mon ami_."

"Well, _mon ami_, let's see how bloody tough you are when Noelle's mum and dad get here!"

AHA! Direct hit to a sore spot! Vincent's hand froze and the paintbrush trembled slightly.

"I ain' worried."

James scoffed. "Are you sure? I know I'd be abso-bloody-lutely terrified if I knew I had to look at Gambit and Rogue and say 'Hi there! I know I've tried to kill you and your family a thousand times in the past, but now I've got a thing for your daughter and –'"

He just barely dodged the stool Vincent threw at him – good thing his friend hadn't tried to use his powers or that thing would surely have cracked his skull.

Having wreaked his verbal vengeance, James was quiet as the other X-Man stalked over to grab his seat and drag it back to its original spot. Instead, the pyrokinetic turned his attention to the painting his friend had been working on for almost a month.

It was of a dragon with bright red and gold scales and wings that glittered like jewels. The lizard was winging its way away from a dark hole. Leading the creature was a sleek, beautiful falcon with bright red-brown-gold wings with delicate silver chevrons in its white breast feathers.

Just looking at it made James grin.

"You are a truly amazing painter, mate."

"_Merci._ T'ink she like it?"

His grin widened. "Noelle?"

"Nah… my ot'er girlfriend."

"Does Noelle know that you're two-timing her?"

"Does Monica know 'bout y' starin' at Liza's breasts in English?"

"She was wearing a push up bra and a bloody see-through shirt! You looked as well!"

"Whoa dere, _mon ami_. My look was one o' horror. Yo's wasn'."

Scowling, the Brit stomped out of the room.

Only to be confronted Warren "Angel" Worthington III and Warren "Gabriel" Worthington IV.

"Hello, James," smiled the two men – in creepy unison no less.

"Let's talk about Monica."

"And how she should be treated."

Oh God.

* * *

Vincent leaned close to his painting, admiring the fine sweep of the dragon's wings and the detailed workings of the hawk's feathers.

Perfect. Not one drop of paint out of place.

Time for his signature.

VB

There. Done.

The unlikely artist put aside his brush, stuffed his hands into his pockets (who cared about wet paint?) and admired his work. It still amazed him every time he had finished with another piece. On some deep level, even as a child, he had never been quite able to wrap his head around the fact that the same hands that could gut a person or snipe a guy right between the eyes from uncharted distances away could also paint a masterpiece.

_Since when'd I git so damn philosophical?_

He spent the next half hour packing his paints, brushes and supplies away. It was soothing to do something so simple and repetitive.

Doing it gave him the time to strategize how he was going to survive the graduation in two days. Namely, how he was going to avoid Noelle's parents. Thankfully, only her mother and father were coming, no other relatives to hide… ahem… _avoid_.

He knew Noelle wanted him to meet her parents… she thought they would like him. Vincent was certain he would be stuck in the med bay for at least two days.

But if he skipped the ceremony, not only would his girlfriend kill him, so would the graduates and the teachers.

Groaning, he covered his work with a sheet and wandered off to find something to eat.

The kitchen was full of activity, with Noelle at the center of it all. She was trying to finish dinner (shrimp and scallop fettuccini) and was having great difficulty due to the number of girls crushing in to stare out the window at Warren Worthington IV as he helped Logan tune up his bike.

Without a shirt. Sweating.

"Lawrd!" Noelle snapped in exasperation. "Ah know y'all seen men befo' 'thout dey shirts! Now git'cho asses out o' mah kitchen."

Vincent leaned in the doorway and grinned. Her accent always did get thicker when she got annoyed.

"But Noelle-"

"But nuthin'! Now git outta here 'fo Ah start swingin' dis spoon!"

The girls cleared out grumbling.

Noelle caught Vincent's eye and winked. "_Bonjour, cher_. Y' ready fo' Saturday?"

"Do I have t'?"

"Yes. Y' do. Now relax, Mama won' let Daddy kill y'."

"He's gon' hate me."

"Only 'cause as yo' datin' me. 'Sahdes, from what Mama's tol' meh, y' ain' so differen' from him when he was youngeh."

"Dat a good t'ing?"

"We'll see. Jus' be polite. An' leave de charm at home, Mama an' Daddy kin bot' see t'rough it."

He winced. For some twisted reason, he didn't want Noelle's parents to hate him. He wasn't looking for people who would love him like Alana's parents loved Charles. But he also didn't want to have to deal with people who would glare and scowl every time he got within ten feet of his girlfriend.

If anything, Vincent preferred the relationship that was building between Lucien and Sofy's family. Respectful, resigned, but not hostile.

Noelle laughed at the look on his face. "Don' look so depressed. Daddy didn' soun' overly pissed. Shocked an' horrified mebbe."

"What about y' mama?"

"She t'inks yo' adorable."

He smirked. "Really?"

"Easy dere, Casanova. Yo' a little young fo' mah mama's tastes – an' _mon père_ wouldn' take too kindleh t' dat either."

Vincent couldn't hold back his laugh. "How y' t'ink y' brother's doin' against Sofy's _parents_?"

"He got Sofy on his side – he be fahne."

"Did she really yell at her father?"

"Da's wha' Lucien tol' meh."

"_C'est vrai?_ Here, lemme help y' wit' dat."

* * *

Noelle rolled out of bed bright and early on Saturday, excitement coursing through her veins. Her parents were arriving today.

Poor Vincent was no doubt freaking out.

She, however, was perfectly happy as she pulled out her rarely worn spring dress. It was the stereotypical cutesy-girl dress; it was white, knee-length, and had a green border and sash.

Normally, she would never have delved so deep into the all-American girl style, but it was almost summer and she felt like being whimsical today. So she pulled on her high-heeled sandals and slid a headband into her bright hair.

The Institute was buzzing in excitement, children fussing about their Sunday best, parents insisting on a thousand and one pictures with their soon to be graduated offspring. Noelle dodged through it all to get to her brother's room. Lucien was buttoning a burgundy dress shirt.

"How y' feelin', _mon frère_?"

He shrugged. "Ah be happier when all dis is oveh. Y' know dat batard Kelly's gon' be dere."

"Ah try not t' t'ink 'bout cockroaches lahke dat."

"How y' feelin'?"

"Jus' fahne. Any reason y' t'ink Ah shouldn' be?"

"Mama an' Daddy gon' be meetin' yo' Vincent t'day."

Noelle winced a bit. "I's gon' be fahne," she said firmly. "Dey don' got t' approve."

"Y' know s'long as one o' dem lahkes him, it'll turn out fahne."

She shot him a suspicious glance. "Yo' bein' awful kahnd t'day, Lucien."

He shrugged again. "Ah jus' escaped from M'sieur Piotr. Ah kin relate."

"Mebbe seein' Daddy'll make him give y' a real chance."

"An' mebbe hell's a cozy vacation spot."

"Oh shut up an' le's go!"

And the X-Men made their way to attend the Bayville graduation ceremony.

* * *

LaGuardia Airport was a zoo.

"Hurry up, Swamp Rat. The ceremony'll be startin' up."

"_Je sais, chère, je sais_. Here take dis an' I get us a car."

"From the rental place, you hear me, Remy LeBeau! Don' you dare steal nuthin'!"

**And there you have it... not much to say for this chapter except... hold onto your hats for the next chapter. That one's gonna be a doozy.**

**REVIEW!**

_**Et savez si vous faites mal à mes filles, moi et ma femme allons tuer vos à la façon pire nous pouvons rêver de. **__**Au revoir. **_**– "And know that if you hurt my children, my wife and I will kill you in the worst way we can dream of. Good-bye."**

_**Cher – **_**"Darling" the male form of "chere"**

_**C'est vrai?**_** – "Is that right?"**

_**Je sais, chère, je sais**_** – ****"I know, darling, I know"**


	64. Chapter 64

**Merry Christmas all! Enjoy!**

Chapter 63

Bayville High's football field was packed with very uncomfortable-looking folding metal chairs. There were swarms of people hurrying to find seats in the bleachers as the graduating class pulled on their red and gold robes. A large stage had been set up on the home field goal line.

To every X-man's disgust, Principal Kelly was standing on the podium, arguing fiercely with his replacement.

"Sir – you cannot give the speech!"

"And why not?"

"Edward, we've already discussed this! The Worthington lawyers have only agreed to lower the fee if you agree to stay away from this ceremony!"

"So those freaks are running everything aren't they?"

"Leave _now_, Edward!"

Practically spitting in rage, the elderly bigot stormed off the stage and ran straight into a tall, well built man with smooth blond hair, clear blue eyes, and a trench coat.

"Aren't you Principal Edward Kelly?"

"Yes, yes I am." The man smiled in a smarmy sort of way.

"I see. Well, Mr. Kelly, my name is Warren Worthington the III. I believe you know my children, Monica and Edward. If you would please excuse me, I need to make a phone call."

Meanwhile, Piotr Rasputin and his beautiful wife were talking animatedly with Julia. She seemed to have a much better impression than Lucien who was craning his neck around the crowd, looking for his parents.

Bridget smiled sadly, sitting on the highest corner of the bleachers.

Today was the day.

It would soon be time.

* * *

Vincent tweaked his belt buckle nervously.

"Wouldja relax?" Noelle chided him. "I's gon' be fahne."

Somehow her hands fixing his lapels didn't calm him as they usually did.

"Are y' sho' I cain' jus' run an' hide?"

"Don' be silly. Dey'd fahnd y'."

"Joy."

"Vince. Please. Dey know Ah lahke y'. Dey not gon' do anyt'in' t' y'. An' even if dey were, dey'd wait until we got back t' de Institute. Too many witnesses here."

His control snapped and he made to run (very fast) away from his girlfriend.

"Ah was kiddin'!" she gasped out between laughs, even as she caught his arm and pulled him back beside her. "Ah was kiddin'. Now, c'mon, le's go fahnd Claire an' sit down."

It took all of two minutes for the two to spot Claire's telltale white striped hair. She was standing with Mrs. Worthington – or Betsy as she preferred to be called – talking animatedly with Graziella, Monica and (gasp!) James.

Betsy was in her element. "And then, if you can believe it, that idiot bloody – oh, hello Noelle, Vincent. Where are Rogue and Remy?"

"Late," Noelle groaned, tossing her bangs. "Mama's gon' be goin' outta her mahnd. She hates bein' late."

Good, Vincent thought feverishly. Take y' time. No rush at all.

"Maybe that's a good thing," Betsy said cheerfully. "Looks like your Vincent is about to faint."

Claire, Graziella, James and Monica laughed as Noelle wrapped a comforting arm around his waist.

"He jus' _un petit_ bit nervous 'bout meetin' ma paren's."

"He should be!" Claire said with a wicked grin.

"Ah know where y' keep y' smut books!" Noelle sing-songed.

Claire backed off so quickly you'd think her sister had threatened her with a shotgun.

"Let's go an' find seats," Graziella said quickly, tugging on a dark brown curl.

"Crap. Sorry, ladies, nature calls. I catch up t' y'all."

"Don' y' dare run off, Vincent Boudreaux!"

They had just barely settled down onto the cold, metal benches of the bleachers with the other Xavier Institute students and guests when they saw an extremely furious Principal Kelly being forcibly escorted from the football field by two burly rent-a-cops.

Monica folded her hands and raised her eyes dramatically up to the sky. "Thank you, great and merciful God."

Betsy's eyes narrowed in dislike. "Is that the illustrious Principal Kelly?"

"_Ouais."_

The psychic began to flex her fingers. The long, slender digits began glowing bright purple.

"Mom! No!" Monica hissed, grabbing her mother's hand.

"Honestly, Monica, I wasn't actually going to do anything. It's just soothing for the nerves!"

"Whatever, Mom."

"At least dat idiot's out an' cain' 'cause anymo' trouble."

* * *

Edward Kelly stormed over to his car.

Damn mutants.

Goddamned freaks.

Another day ruined for the good, normal people of this world because of those… monsters.

"_Excusez-moi, monsieur?_" murmured a voice that somehow managed shy and sultry at once.

He turned to see one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen coming towards him. She was tall and curvy in all the right places, fair skin, red lips, great blue eyes, and golden curls. Her body was clad in a classy black and powder blue woman's suit.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked, subtly trying to straighten his tie, smooth his hair, and brush his hair over his growing bald spot.

"I am so sorry t' be botherin' y', but my son's graduatin' t'day but I've lost my ticket. 'S dere any way y' kin git me in?"

"Of course I can, ma'am, if you'll just come this way…"

He gallantly walked her back toward the football field. "And who are you here for?"

"Lucien LeBeau. Do y' know him?"

Wait. Wait a minute.

LeBeau. LeBeau.

The face of a sour young woman grimacing at him over his desk flashed through his mind. Her face was caked in her goth makeup and her hair had telltale streaks around her face.

"Lucien LeBeau is the spawn... son of one of my former students. And believe me - I could never forget a brat like his mother. Who are you really?"

Her hand tightened mercilessly on his arm and he gasped in pain.

"I'm someone who knows 'bout yo' grudge 'gainst de mutants."

"Are you here to make them suffer?"

Her eyes darted to his. "Yes."

A brutal smile spread across the sharp, vicious features. "Enjoy the ceremony, Miss."

Belladonna Boudreaux smiled sweetly as she slipped a needle through his clothes. "Merci, Monsieur. Have a nice day."

* * *

Claire was the first to catch sight of her parents. "MAMAN! DADDY!"

Noelle whipped her head up. Yup, there was no mistaking that hair or those eyes.

It took a few minutes for Rogue and Remy to fight their way over to them.

"Y'all made it!" Noelle laughed, reaching out to hug her mother.

Rogue was dressed in dark brown slacks and a green blouse. "It was murder tryin' t' get heah. Be glad we here at all, nevehmahnd on tahme."

"Don' be so dramatic, _chère_," Remy chuckled, squeezing Claire affectionately and tugging Graziella's curls gently. "De traffic wasn' dat bad."

Rogue grumbled but hugged her eldest daughter. "So where's y' brother?"

Noelle pointed off towards the school's main building. "He's waitin' f' da pomp an' circumstance t' start up wit' de ot'ers."

"An' where's dis Assassin y' datin'?"

She winced slightly at her father's aggressive tone. "He's off in da bathroom. He be back. Daddy. Y' betteh be nahce."

"Is da _garçon_ scared?"

"Yeah."

"_Bon_. Dat makes dis easier."

Before Noelle could reach her father to strangle him, her mother reached over and punched him on the arm. "You, Remy LeBeau, are gonna behave y'self. If Noelle says this boy's alrahght, then ya gonna leave him alone!"

Her father practically pouted. "But Roguey –"

"But nuthin'! Behave y'self!" She turned away, muttering. "Three kids put togetheh weren' as bad as their father!"

"Are y' sayin' Ah wasn' enough trouble f' y', Maman?" Noelle asked, her eyes widening comically. "'Cause Ah still got one mo' year wit'cha."

Remy laughed outright even while Rogue sputtered in rage. When she was at last able to form a coherent sentence, the Southern Belle turned her back quite deliberately on her eldest daughter and husband to speak to Betsy.

"Hello Betsy, it's been a while."

"Sorry about that, luv. How long has it been? I haven't seen you all since Warren had that business meeting in New Orleans… how many years ago?"

"Had to have been at least five years ago… it was just after Noelle started here."

"Rogue! How are you?" Warren Worthington III cried jovially, followed closely by his dark haired son, Warren (IV).

"Doin' well, an' y'self?"

"Well, thanks." The millionaire cast a cold eye on Remy. "Stolen anything lately?"

Remy threw a wink at Noelle. "Who knows?"

Noelle laughed.

It was at that moment that the school band began beating out a fierce rhythm. Silence immediately fell over the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen," announced the vice principal. "May I present this year's graduating class!"

The Pomp and Circumstance music began and the seniors marched onto the field and filed to their seats.

"Where'd Vincent get to?"

* * *

Vincent stared at his reflection in the grimy mirror of the public bathroom. He looked as he always did, albeit a little better dressed and paler than usual. His dark red shirt was neatly pressed and his pants had perfectly ironed creases.

There was no sign in one inch of his reflection that he was anything but a perfectly decent young man for someone's daughter to date. Not one trace of his being an Assassin. Not a whisper of his family history.

Of course, to Noelle's family his very face would be a very big, neon sign proclaiming: 'Assassin Prince – STAY AWAY! DO NOT DATE!'

And… his traitorous mind wandered to the nightmare he'd had just last night.

He'd been the dragon again, though this time he had been out of the hole and soaring along with the other winged animals. At his side was the lithe form of the falcon, flying along easily beside him. Her long, powerful bronze wings had bold splashes of copper, silver, and gold streaked in her feathers.

His dragon-self had thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen (apparently interspecies breeding was not an issue in his dream world) and wanted only to stay close to her.

The herd stopped to allow the different creatures to eat and he watched as the graceful bird shot off to hunt. In classic dream fashion, he was suddenly following her, watching as she wheeled over a great, flat plain, silver-green eyes flashing brightly as she looked for some sign of prey. She must have spotted something because her wings abruptly folded and she fell into a spectacular dive.

Barely five feet from the ground, her talons flashed out – in time to catch a springing yellow viper.

Bird and snake fell to the ground in a thrashing heap, wings and tail flailing wildly.

He was frozen up in the sky and when he was at last able to move and get down to help, the damage had been done.

His falcon – his beautiful, fierce, graceful, gentle falcon – was lying deadly still on the ground, feathers and eyes dull.

The poisonous yellow serpent opened its bleeding mouth at him; she was laughing at him. Her scales were torn and she was dying, but she was laughing at him.

Then the winged animals he had flown with were around him, pointing with wing, nose, and claw at the broken form of the bird lying motionless at his feet.

It was his fault, they said.

His fault.

It _was_ his fault.

It _was._

He had woken James up with his wild mutterings of "My fault… my fault!"

Rubbing a rough hand across his scalp, the Assassin glared at himself. He was not going to let that happen.

Vincent clenched his fists and walked out of the bathroom.

The graduation march had already started – Noelle was going to kill him for being late –

That's when what James jokingly called his 'Spidey-senses' screamed.

Vincent dropped to the ground just in time to avoid being hit with a throwing knife.

"_Mal chance, Louis!"_

His blood froze.

Oh. Oh no.

Oh God no!

There stood his cousins Marius and Louis. Both of them looked like they belonged in an old Al Capone movie. Each was dressed in their Sunday best, with shoulder holsters for automatic weapons and sheaths for knives expertly sewn into their sports coats.

Alright. He forcibly cleared his mind.

Two against one.

Those weren't bad odds at all.

No… four against one – Antoinette and Danielle had just arrived in sundresses and holding handguns.

Ten…

Shit!

The professor… would he be able to sense them?

Probably not with all these people around him – and Vincent had no chance at all of getting through to the man.

That left only…

_Noelle._

No.

No.

He wasn't going to call her.

He wasn't going to call any of them.

This was his problem. His family, damn it! None of the X-Men – his friends – were going to be caught up in the madness of his family.

Now the majority of the Assassins' Guild had surrounded him.

He was alone.

"_Bonjour, mon fil."_

Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse.

The crowd of his relatives fell away to reveal the menacing form of Belladonna Boudreaux.

She was dressed as impeccably as ever and he found himself comparing her to Noelle.

His mother was undeniably beautiful, but there had always been something about her that was too perfect. The kind of perfect that froze and tore hearts instead of lifting them. There was something wild, vicious, brutal in her eyes. Something cold and calculating – almost like the dead eyes of a snake.

Noelle was beautiful in a different way. It was… it reminded him… maybe… no…

A star? No… stars were far away and remote…

Fireflies.

A firefly: bright and cheerful, clever and quick. And beautiful. Couldn't forget that.

Clenching his teeth, he stood very still and drew the knife Noelle had gotten him for Christmas.

His mother pouted at him. "Why y' takin' dat out, _mon cher_? We jus' come heah t' talk."

"No y' didn'."

"_Non_, we didn'. We come t' hold a trial."

"Really."

The look on her face was quickly morphing into something ugly; she didn't like the cold, uncaring tone he was using. "Yo' a traitor."

"Really."

"Y' turned yo' back on yo' family. Yo' mission. Yo' mother. An' fo' what? A bunch o' freaks? Fo' a little T'ief whore dat –"

"Don' talk 'bout Noelle like dat."

The Guildmistress' lip curled. "Noelle? You call that thing by name?"

"Why not? I call you by yo' name. An' I'd sooner kiss her den you."

His mother snarled and lunged at him.

He effortlessly fended her off with a careless wrist snap that put his knife into a perfect throwing position. A silent, but highly effective, way to get her to back off.

To get them all to back off.

"Why're y'all heah?"

His mother smiled with toxic sweetness. "A trial."

Vincent's insides shriveled. Trials in the Assassins Guild was a fancy way of saying you were about to get the flesh peeled from your bones after a ten second ceremony that basically went like this:

_Here he is._

_Is he guilty?_

_Yes._

_Present your evidence._

_Because I say so._

… _Good enough for me. I pronounce him guilty. Maim, torture, and kill him._

_ATTACK!_

Ah… the legal system in action.

"Le's go," his mother ordered.

Vincent eyed her coldly.

"An' why should I obey any o' yo' orders?"

The look she gave him was nothing less than insane.

"D' y' remember how human bodies look after a C4 explosion?" She asked sweetly, holding up a small remote, complete with a kill switch.

Oh shit.

"Now, why don'cha show _Maman_ dis Institute o' yo's?"

* * *

"Robert Marshall Lawrence!"

Noelle clenched her jaw and debated what kind of punishment she was going to dish out to Vincent for daring to run out instead of meeting her parents.

"Lucien Emil LeBeau!"

For a moment she allowed her pride and love for her brother drown out her anger as she leapt to her feet with her family and the rest of the Institute to screech congratulations at the graduating Cajun striding across the stage for his diploma. Beside her, Rogue was sobbing and Remy was laughing (whether at his wife's happy tears or at the whole situation, Noelle didn't know). Claire was hopping up and down on the bleachers, clapping her gloved hands together enthusiastically with her white streaks bouncing wildly.

It took several more minutes for the speaker to get to the Rs but as soon as "Alexei Vladimir Rasputin" was said, they erupted again.

"Charles Nathan Summers!"

Another burst of cheering – though a bit more subdued.

"Edward Nicholas Worthington!"

"That's my boy!"

"Go Eddie!"

And then it was over.

Quite anticlimactic, Noelle mused as she climbed off the bleachers as the ceremony ended. But it's going to get much more interesting when I got my hands on that no-good cowardly –

"Where in the bloody world did Vincent go?" James said, planting his hands on his hips and scowling around at the crowd.

"Ran off, da little batard," she grumbled.

"No way in hell he'd just run off," James disagreed with a curt shake of his orange head. "He was just saying this morning how nervous he was but how glad he would be to get it over with. And do you really think that he'd do that to you without a word?"

A prickle of shame crept up her spine. Noelle LeBeau was not easily shamed, but when she was, she took it quite seriously.

No. Vincent wouldn't just leave with no explanation.

Which meant something was very wrong.

He was missing – had been missing for the better part of two hours.

"Shit."

"Noelle?" Her mother had abruptly appeared at her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Dunno yet. Jus' dat Vincent's missin'."

"Missin' how?" her father was at her back.

"As in he lef' fo' da bathroom two hours ago an' neveh came back. An' Ah know he ain' run off."

Remy straightened up and frowned over the tops of the heads of the mob around them. "Hm. Y' might wan' go lookin' fo' him, petite."

Noelle grabbed her mother's arm in one hand and Betsy's in the other. She inhaled… then exhaled.

Emotions rushed her from every which way. Pride, jealousy, lust, irritation… she let it all wash over her even as it pushed her up and away from the football field. She searched for Vincent's emotions. He was a rush of the deep gold of good-nature and contentment, a flash of purple for pride, red for a quick temper, a healthy dose of silver for intelligence, and a deep reservoir of pink for affection and love. But at the moment, his usual bright array of colors was being overwhelmed by a harsh red of rage, the sickly yellow-green of fear with more green than yellow which meant he was scared for someone else… and black… hatred.

There were whirlpools of dark emotions, full of hate, sadism, and bloodlust.

She knew who they were.

"Assassins!"

* * *

Vincent stood in the forest outside of the Institute. His mother had scouted out a place far enough away from the building to escape the range of the security systems, yet close enough for it to be tempting to try and make an escape.

But he knew those tricks. She had taught him all the tricks.

They had walked from the school to the Institute, something Vincent's feet in their good shoes had not appreciated. But he was an Assassin and an X-Man. He hadn't made a sound of complaint. The whole way, he had been plotting a dozen ways to get out of this.

He wished Noelle or James or, hell, even Lucien were here to give him a better idea than go down fighting and try to take as many of his relatives out as possible so the people returning to the Institute (surely the ceremony must be well underway by now?) wouldn't have too many to deal with.

Why, oh why, had Ororo and the Professor insisted that Logan attend the graduation as well? It would have solved a majority of his problems.

"State yo' name!" Belladonna ordered from where she stood on a stump, rather like a child playing princess.

Vincent said nothing, focusing his gaze off into the distance.

He had never gotten around to asking Noelle what it was like to fly.

There was a flash and suddenly he was twisting a knife out of his second cousin's grip. Not deigning to give the man so much as a glance, he took the knife away and threw it to one side.

Belladonna was grinding her teeth.

He laughed to himself.

"Vincent Julian Boudreaux, y' stand accused o' treason. How d' y' plead?"

Hm. It was very beautiful in this forest – he had never noticed before. That must be why Noelle and Lucien liked to run here. He decided that if he lived through this he would do some exploring through these woods.

"Someone get his attention!"

No one moved. For all that he was a 'traitor' he was still the Prince of Assassins, hand trained by the greatest killers in the family, and a mutant to boot. Not to mention all of the torture he had endured at the hands of Wolverine and the other instructors – not that any of his family knew how he had been keeping up with his training with the X-Men.

"Grab him!" There was a truly hideous expression on the Guildmistress' face.

It took several moments for her to regain control, but there was still a spark of madness in those blue eyes. He wondered if he had gotten her eyes or Deadpool's eyes…

Given the choice, he thought he preferred the lunatic father to the sociopathic mother.

"Is dere anyone who would defend dis man?"

Only the birds were chirping.

Vincent was subtly noting the knives and guns his relatives had. He planned his move even as the birds went about their business and his mother went about securing his death.

He wondered if anything she did would really kill him.

Because if it didn't, she would just get angry and look for someone else to take her frustrations out on. Like the other Xavier students.

He was seriously going to have to get rid of her. Cripple her, knock her unconscious… something.

He could kill her – that thought made him sick. He couldn't kill his mother – not even her.

"I sentence y' t' death. Any las' words?"

"Are y' still talkin'?"

"Kill him!"

The Assassins attacked.

Sniper attacked.

A lean figure in the shadows watched.

**Hmmmm… nothing to really say except: Please Review!**

_Garçon_ – "boy"

_Bon_ – "good"

"_Mal chance, Louis!"_ – "Bad luck, Louis!"

"_Bonjour, mon fil."_ – "Hello, my son."


	65. Chapter 65

**Happy New Year's Eve everybody!**

**Kudos if you can pinpoint the Count of Monte Cristo inspiration… and an early update.**

**Enjoy!**

Sniper 64

It was like that crazy movie Rambo. Gunfire erupted from every firearm.

Sniper fell into a crouch and darted forward.

The first he ran into was Andre, an older second cousin. It took a palm strike to the sternum, even as he lashed out with a foot to throw off another cousin, and solid chop to the throat to put Andre down.

And that was just the beginning.

* * *

He wasn't sure how much time had passed. Perhaps minutes, perhaps hours. It was still Saturday; he had not seen nightfall yet.

What he did know was that his good red dress shirt was ruined. Rents and holes were torn in its fine cotton cloth and underneath it his skin was desperately attempting to overcome the wealth of injuries he had collected from his family.

If not for his prodigious healing ability he would have been dead at least once over.

On the bright side, the majority of his executioners were down for the count. All that stealth and ambush training had paid off wonderfully. He estimated there were only a dozen left to fight. And his mother… mustn't forget her.

Sniper was still trying to decide he was going to do about her.

A branch snapped somewhere to his right.

Senses on high alert, he stalked through the undergrowth.

It took only a few moments for him to come upon Eugenie, a beautiful, dark-haired, cousin of his. She had earned the nickname of La Veuve Noire or "The Black Widow" for her ability to lure men with her beauty and charms, then stab them with a poisoned knife.

Now, however, she was dressed in a deceptively innocent yellow sundress, the woman was kneeling on the ground, murmuring over his abandoned dress shoes.

Vincent took a second to smile grimly at his bare feet before he made his move, drawing out the knife he had taken from one of his cousins whom he had knocked unconscious. The Sniper at the beginning of the year never would have been able to sneak up on The Widow, but Noelle and Claire had taken it upon themselves to train him in stealth. Now he was silent as death (though only while barefooted) as he came up behind his cousin and slammed the hilt of his knife on the back of her neck. She went down with the lightest gasp, though not before a reflexive slash of her poisoned knife cut into his leg.

Swallowing a curse Noelle would have slapped him for, he knelt and stripped her of all her weapons. He had barely finished tightening the bonds about her legs and hands before he heard the telltale click of a Winchester shotgun. He managed to dive out of the way of the bullet, but was instantly nailed in the leg by the slug from an M-16 rifle.

Sniper stumbled and fell with yet another curse, this one even Wolverine would have snarled at. It took a moment, but he managed to scramble to cover, crawling on the ground like an insect. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of leaves rustling, and bodies moving but it died away almost immediately. Someone had probably tripped over a root or walked into a tree branch.

Hunkering further into the shadows, the young man clenched his teeth and grabbed his wound in both hands. The pain was excruciating, but thankfully the bullet had not gone too deeply and he was able to get it out.

Afterwards, he grimaced at the bloody mess. The bullet was out, but Hank was going to have a heart attack when he saw the wound; Vincent could almost hear the coming rant about infection and the harm that doing medical work himself could have on his body.

Well, it was the best he could do, he reasoned even as he tore off his sleeves as makeshift bandages.

All the time, he listened for any other attackers, but everything around him was silent as a tomb.

With a suppressed groan, he immediately amended the thought. Silent as death – no! Silent as… silent!

* * *

Noelle was furious with herself. The one day she had worn a dress! Without shorts underneath it no less!

Her mother had offered to fly ahead to the Institute, but the Professor squashed that idea upon a quick scan of the Institute. "There are too many enemies to go in recklessly."

"Then what's the plan, Chuck?" demanded an irate Logan. "Can't you just put them down… temporarily?"

"No Logan, something is blocking my telepathy. If I tried, I could kill them all."

"God knows we don't want that."

"Everyone," Cyclops ordered. "Make your way to the vehicles and –"

No one waited for further instructions, choosing to fight through the crowd to get to the SUVs, vans and assorted other cars. Lucien, Eddie, Alexei, and Charles tore themselves out of their robes and sprinted after them.

There was a squealing of tires as the cars barreled out of the parking lot.

Noelle fervently wished she was driving, though she had to be satisfied with her mother's slightly dangerous, reckless, heart-stopping road rage. She wished she or her father were behind the wheel; the two of them shared the tendency to blatantly ignore any and all traffic laws when it suited them, and both had a talent for escaping police and highway patrol officers. And despite the ranting they had to endure afterwards from Rogue and _Tante_ Mattie, both Noelle and Remy got things done when they drove.

Logan (in the front on his Harley) waved them all to the side of the road about a block away from the Institute. There would only be a small force going in to help Vincent – only the stealthiest and quickest would be going.

It was at this point that Laura interrupted his plan to inform him that there were seven sentries posted around the Institute. She only needed to finish her sentence to find several volunteers to take them out: Betsy Worthington, better known as Psylocke, Rogue, and Gambit. These, added to the force of Laura, Wolverine, Bishop and Cyclops, pretty much spelled game over for the guards.

It took all of three minutes and then the coast was clear.

The X-Men swept over the wall with the ease and grace of commandoes. The bigger and less stealthy of the bunch stayed behind to watch for any other unwanted intruders.

As soon as Noelle's feet hit the ground she bolted off into the forest.

"Noelle!" her mother, father, and brother hissed, immediately sprinting after her.

But even in her dress and heeled sandals, she was faster. It took a few minutes, but, running and flying in turns, she lost her pursuers in the shadows of the forest. She leapt lightly over a fallen log and froze.

She threw her empathy over the depths of the forest. Ignoring the frantic emotions of her family and teammates, she could feel the deep, ancient hum of the trees. Further into the forest was the frightened buzz of the animals hunkering down in their nests and dens. Among all of this were the dulled patches of emotion of the unconscious. Then were the spots of desperation and grim determination of the several remaining Assassins.

There was Vincent, his comforting blaze some distance away, and then there was –

Two sickly bright spots were in this forest as well. One was a solid hole of bitterness, resentment, manipulation, calculation, selfishness, jealousy, and hatred. It made her nauseous. The other was just a mess of amusement, rage, despair, joy, affection, and hate. Both were insane, but she would guess the first was –

Coming closer.

It was coming closer.

Noelle stood very still and silent as Belladonna Boudreaux stepped delicately into the small clearing. She was tall and beautiful. There was long, curly blond hair, blue eyes, perfect skin, white teeth… perfection.

"Like what y' see?" the older woman jeered.

Kestrel gave her a graceful shrug. "_Ma mère_'s prettier."

Her mother, Rogue, may not have been Miss America, but she was a hell of a mother and had her own kind of fierce beauty. There was something about her that caught the eye and held it. But those that looked on her felt themselves emboldened rather than terrified. To Noelle, there was no woman more beautiful than her mother. To Noelle, this woman before her was a cheap Barbie doll in comparison to her mother.

As expected, Belladonna did not take the honest answer well. She snarled and charged Noelle. The Assassin was fast, but Kestrel had trained with Talon – the former Hydra's X23. All she had to do was wait until the woman was almost upon her, then throw her off balance with a quick, powerful strike to the chest.

But even as she was thrown off balance, the Assassin Guildmistress' hands were moving.

There was the flash of a knife.

Kestrel's hand descended mercilessly on Belladonna's wrist and squeezed and twisted. The Assassin went down on her knees, jerking and maneuvering to keep her hold on the knife.

Rolling her eyes, the Thief instantly reversed the twist, stretching the woman's arm out. With a business-like air, she stomped down on the vulnerable elbow.

There was a crack and a shriek as Kestrel broke Belladonna's arm.

A very large gun flashed out from a hidden pocket.

Immediately, the young X-Man leapt away and warily eyed the firearm now aimed steadily at her head. This wasn't Sniper; playing chicken with a loaded gun wasn't nearly as dangerous. But an Assassin, especially this one, was an expert at death. What they aimed at, they hit.

And she might have been less worried had that gun been anything but what it actually was.

That was no little pistol. That was a Magnum 400, the most powerful handgun in the world. It made the Magnum .44 look like a water pistol – if a 400 slug hit you, it was going to leave a hole in your body. A fist-sized hole. That you could look through to the other side. And if that was the latest addition then it could rip you in half.

Good Lord.

And it wasn't as though she could use her empathy. For one thing, this woman was _insane_. If Noelle even tried to dip her mind into that sludge of a brain, there was no telling if she would be able to get out without her emotions being tainted with that madness.

"Belladonna!"

_Dieu merci! Mais quel choix du moment horrible!_

Vincent was standing at the edge of the clearing. He looked like hell; his clothes were in tatters, his shoes were missing, he was covered in injuries, all in various stages of healing, and blood was smeared all over his skin, even matted in his hair.

He limped out with his predatory grace, his path leading straight to Noelle.

Never once did he allow his gaze to falter from his mother.

"Don' move!" Belladonna shrieked, aiming the gun at him.

* * *

Vincent didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The whole reason he had gone with his mother was so that Noelle and the others would be safe. And here was his girl… his love… standing here in this damned forest before his crazed mother.

He had wanted to see her one last time, but not here!

So he kept walking.

"I said don' move!"

And abruptly, the gun was pointed back at Noelle.

Vincent stopped abruptly about ten feet away from his girlfriend.

Belladonna's face cracked into a truly deranged smile. "Da's betteh. Now. Which o' y' wan's t' die firs'?" the woman drawled. She was covered in mud and dirt, her suit was ripped, and her left arm was looked rather like a snapped toothpick, but still she smiled like a child receiving a pony for Christmas.

It made him sick.

"Da Magnum 400 only carries da one bullet. Y' only got one shot… an' it'll take mo' den dat t' stop me," he growled. Let her shoot at me. Let her shoot at me.

His mother's overly bright eyes glittered madly – was this really his mother? "_Bon._ I jus' have t' be sho' t' put dis where it'll do da mos' damage."

Then, suddenly, the world slowed to a crawl.

Vincent watched as Belladonna swung the gun from him to Noelle.

His heat stopped.

But his legs moved.

But not fast enough.

God, not fast enough!

Not Noelle.

Not Noelle!

_Not Noelle!_

BANG

* * *

The Institute was shrouded in grey disbelief and grief.

He felt numb.

He felt dead inside.

The only indication that he was still alive was the pain in his chest.

But he deserved this pain.

Deserved it all.

He deserved death.

He had said so to Lucien and Claire, and their parents. But Noelle's family had said nothing to him.

Nothing.

Nothing.

And why shouldn't they?

He had failed.

Failed.

"Vin-" James began.

"Don' call me dat!" he snarled. "Never call me dat!"

"Mate," his friend amended. "The ceremony's about to start."

_There was blood all over the ground._

He didn't want to go to the ceremony. He didn't want to see that box take her…

But still…

"I be down…"

_She was down on the ground, her gleaming hair spread out gloriously._

He found himself trudging across the lawn. There was a crowd gathered around in the gardens, right around the dogwood tree Noelle had loved to sit under.

_The trees cast shadows upon her body._

The mourners were a solid blackness against the bright, summer day.

He wondered the entire world had not gone black. Noelle was gone – what right did the birds have to sing, or the Sun to shine?

Lucien, Claire, and their parents turned to look at him as he neared. Accusing glares – good, he deserved them. Tears streamed down Claire and her mother's faces.

He had to look away. Noelle's eyes… they had Noelle's eyes.

Lucien and his father had raw hate in their eyes. And though Lucien's eyes were a mere brown, they were just as burning and furious as his father's demonic ones.

He wished they would attack him.

He deserved it. He deserved every bit of pain anyone could give him.

A big nosed priest stood in front of them and began speaking in a terribly slow voice.

"The Lord says –"

The man droned on and on, but all he could focus on was that polished box with white flowers on top. The box.

The coffin.

It was too small to hold Noelle. Noelle who loved to fly. Noelle who could point out every constellation. Noelle who cooked the best jambalaya he had ever tasted and huge chocolate cakes. Noelle who rode motorcycles like a fiend. Noelle who loved musicals and magnolias.

His Noelle.

Then the ceremony was over. All that was left was a mound of fresh dirt and a grey headstone:

_Noelle Caroline LeBeau_

_Daughter – Sister – Friend_

_1993 – 2010 _

_Un ange a obtenu ses ailes_

_An angel has gotten her wings_

Gone.

_Belladonna was laughing._

He would go crazy.

_There was yelling all around him._

Gone.

_Grey-green eyes that had once teased him and glittered wickedly were now blank and dead._

Gone.

Gone!

He was alone with that headstone…

In the hours after that hideous noise had blasted away the girl he had… his chest stabbed at him…

_She lay there like a broken doll._

He hadn't wanted them to take her away. He had held onto her, as though by holding onto the limp thing that was now Noelle he could force her to be well again.

_His beautiful falcon had been shot down._

But they had forced him to release her, dragging the body away from his grip. With his arms now empty, he had sat there huddled on the ground. Now he could understand why some people went crazy: it was easier to lose themselves in a fantasy than face reality.

Logan had taken his arm in a gentle, but firm, hold. "C'mon Vincent. Let's get you back to the Institute… Come on now, kid…"

Bishop took his other arm and between the two men, he was steered back to the Institute.

But there was no one to make him leave now. No one to take him back to the Institute.

He could sit out here as long as he pleased.

He knelt on the grave, in the fresh earth, and closed his hands into fists, clutching the soft soil and bowing his head.

The pain in his chest was blinding.

"Why'd y' take her?" he whispered to the world. "Why her?"

Something whispered to him.

He raised his head.

It was the gravestone.

He scrambled forward and gripped the smooth granite. "Why'd y' take her?"

It whispered again.

He tried to shake it. Tried to make it answer. "Why'd y' take her?"

He really was going crazy. He wondered if madness would let him see Noelle again.

The whispering was getting louder. He could almost make out the words now.

He hoped he would be a nice kind of crazy.

Like Forge.

Hell, maybe even Deadpool.

Just not like Belladonna. Let God strike him down before he ever became like Belladonna.

"_Vincent!"_

The whispers were saying his name.

Huh.

"_Vincent!"_

_Blood was all over him._

His chest was agony.

"_Vincent, y need t' breathe jus' a little bit mo'."_

He looked up. He knew that voice.

The sky was blue.

_There were trees over him… their shadows were comforting._

He blinked.

"_Breathe, Vincent!"_

But he was breathing… wasn't he?

_There was a… pain… a pain beyond pain in his chest._

Noelle. That was Noelle's voice.

"_Dat's good Vincent…"_

He looked down at the ground, then shook himself. Noelle would not be down there! He looked up at the sky instead.

"_Vincent, Ah know y' c'n hear meh. Ah need y' t' open yo' eyes."_

He frowned. He put his hand to his face – weren't his eyes open already…?

No.

They weren't.

It was dark…

"_Open yo' eyes!"_

_There were other whispers besides hers now. A male's voice, very much like Lucien's… only older. A wild cackling. An energetic babbling…_

He raised his hand to the sky.

"Noelle?"

Vincent opened his eyes.

**Well?**

**Thoughts? Questions? Flaming arrows?**

**Review please!**

_**Dieu merci! Mais quel choix du moment horrible!**_** – "Thank God! But what horrible timing****!"**


	66. Chapter 66

**Happy NEW YEAR!**

**For your enjoyment... a new chapter early! **

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 65

Noelle had been… been…

There were no words strong enough.

When Belladonna had swung that gun towards her, the young Thief had used the knife she had taken from an unconscious Assassin to give her arm a deep, nasty gash behind her back. Painful, but efficient.

She had been safe. A nuclear missile could have been dropped onto her head and she would have come away with nothing but a few bruises.

And then Vincent had gotten in front of her.

Abruptly she had been covered in blood and gore… and _oh God, Vincent!_

He stood stock-still for about half a second, then careened backwards. There was a huge hole in his chest – no, not a hole. There was simply… nothing. A whole chunk of his chest was gone. The whole left side of his chest was gone.

Blood spurted everywhere.

"_Bête fil_!" Belladonna screamed, though in rage or sorrow it was hard to tell.

Noelle couldn't get her mind around what had just happened. Vincent had a whole piece of his body missing. This was no bullet or knife wound that he could heal from in fifteen minutes – this was an honest to God half of his body missing. His heart was gone. His left lung was gone…

She could see the pink muscle, the rivers of blood spilling out into the grass…

It wasn't until she grabbed him around the waist to keep him from falling that the reality hit her.

She made a strangled scream-like noise even as she dragged the limp body behind her, away from the bitch who had shot him.

She wanted to kill that woman. Wanted her to suffer, but she couldn't leave Vincent. She didn't… She didn't want Vincent to die alone.

Belladonna was moving again.

Noelle grabbed the pocketknife she still had and got ready.

"Bella!"

Relief shot through every molecule of her body as something small and glowing shot through the air, hit the ground right in front of the charging Assassin, and promptly exploded.

Her father.

Gambit came sprinting out of the shadows to stand over Noelle and Vincent. He blanched at the sight of the injury in Vincent's abused chest. "_Dieu_. Tell me he's got some kind o' healin' power."

She nodded. She meant to say something else, but her throat wasn't working properly.

"_YOU!"_

If Belladonna had looked crazy before, she looked downright deranged now. Her face was cut up and scratched, her hair was covered in dirt…

Noelle just watched as her father faced the woman he had once been married to. "Hello, Belladonna."

"Noelle! Remy!" Rogue came crashing out of the treetops. She stopped abruptly at the sight of her one-time rival. "Belladonna."

The Guildmistress stumbled backwards at the sight of the newest arrival, still screaming and babbling wildly. Her hands scrambled wildly in the dirt.

She was looking for her gun.

"What're y' doin' here, Belle?" Remy asked, sounding both tired and furious.

"Holdin' a trial."

"I's over, Belle. Y' know y' cain' win."

And then Belladonna started to laugh. It was the stuff of classic Disney villains' laughter. High, cold, and vicious. And crazy, couldn't forget that.

"Y' t'ink I los' dis battle, Remy LeBeau? Look what I done! I almos' killed yo' little whore of a daughter. I did kill de little bastard traitor who called his'self my son! An' now I got'ch'all right where I fuckin' wan' y'!"

With that, the lunatic wrenched open her blouse to reveal little packages of C4. It was more than enough to level the forest and take a healthy piece out of the Institute.

Noelle, Rogue, and Gambit went utterly still.

"Y' didn' really think I jus' come here wid'out an ace up my sleeve, didja?" the woman whipped her mad eyes from white face to white face.

What happened next happened in flashes.

Gambit lunging towards the Guildmistress, trying to stop her from detonating.

Rogue diving for her husband.

Noelle putting her body squarely over Vincent's and –

A hand closing around Belladonna's wrist.

And then a swish of metal.

A wet thunk.

And nothing.

No explosion.

Just Deadpool standing over a still Belladonna and pointing at the Assassin in a very serious manner. "I really think we should discuss parenting strategies, slut in heels!"

Silence…

The mercenary caught sight of them and waved at the three merrily. "Hiya guys! How's it going?"

More silence…

"I know I'm a little late, but the author decided that in keeping with this anti-hero thing, I should just come swinging in to the rescue at the last minute. So just at the last second before the slut in heels here decided to blow you all up, I grabbed her and sliced through her spinal cord! I actually wanted to kill her, but the author thought it would leave a bad taste in the readers' mouths if I killed the mother of my son. So where is the result of the faulty condom?"

Dead silence…

"Wha' de hell are you doin' here, Deadpool?" her father demanded at last.

Deadpool stuck his chest out proudly and struck a Superman pose; it was scaring the crap out of Noelle and her parents. "I followed my common sense… and the plotline!"

It was at this point that Noelle remembered Vincent. He looked dead. The wound had not healed in the slightest.

She grabbed his shirt and yanked it aside to better reveal the tattered ends of the injury. This wasn't an injury, she thought feverishly to herself. Injuries were papercuts and broken legs… this was… a maiming. The buttons snapped and scattered everywhere and she used what was left of the shirt to staunch the (now very pitiful) blood flow. "Vincent? Wha's goin' on? Y' ain' healin'."

His face remained smooth and grayish.

"Vincent!" she shook him gently. "Dis ain' funny!"

"Aw man…" Deadpool babbled from somewhere behind her. "Is he dead?"

"No!" she snapped at him. "I's jus' takin' a little whahle f' him t' heal his'self!"

Nothing happened.

She was feeling distinctly sick.

"Noelle –" her mother began.

But Noelle ignored her, leaning her head close to his chest. "Vincent?"

Her father put a hand on her shoulder. "Noelle –"

She shook off the touch. "He ain' dead!"

Desperately, she reached out with her empathy and felt around.

Where…?

There! A sluggish bit of emotion was wandering around near his throat. Sheer despair and sorrow.

"Vincent! Vincent! I's Noelle! C'mon, _chère_… Don' leave me here… Come back…"

His body gave the lightest shudder.

"_Mon Dieu_," her father breathed just at her shoulder.

"Damn it, Noelle!" her brother's voice suddenly yelled, sounding distinctly winded. "Wha' de hell were y' – wha' de _hell_?"

"Vincent!" she said loudly. "Vincent!"

A bloody tube wiggled out of the ragged flesh and felt around aimlessly like a confused snake. Then another, then another. Pink layers of… something… began to creep out. Then it all started to pulse.

Someone made a gagging noise.

"Wow, look at that! His arteries are repairing themselves? Or maybe those're lines for cable. Hmm… do you guys have cable? 'Cause y' know, I haven't been able to find the Golden Girls or The Nanny… or The Office. What's wrong with that? They can show the Weather Channel but not Lifetime or NBC?"

"Dat's real good Vincent. Dat's real good," Noelle said into Vincent's ear. "Y' almost dere. But c'n y' breathe fo' meh?"

The dull strains of emotion she sensed deep within the downed young man, started to die away.

"Wrong way, sugah! C'mon… Vincent… y' cain' do dis t' meh… c'mon _mon amor_…!"

The emotions paused, almost like an animal that can't decide whether to go or stay.

"Vincent! Jus' follow mah voice. Come back t' meh…"

His body jolted a bit.

"Vincent, y' need t' breathe jus' a little bit mo'."

What was left of his chest made a few up and down motions even as a few fragile branches of bone grew very slowly back into the shape of the left side of a rib cage. Then he went still.

"Breathe, Vincent!" she slammed her fist into his chest – not the smartest thing to do, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

His entire body jerked and he inhaled sharply. Almost instantly, his body broke out in thick sweat and a burst of blood seeped from his body.

"Good God!" gasped a voice in the background.

It only then occurred to her that there was a crowd around her and Vincent.

But that was not overly important at the moment. She leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "Vincent, Ah know y' c'n hear meh. Ah need y' t' open yo' eyes."

His mouth twisted and his eyes scrunched up before smoothing out.

"Noelle," Remy was saying over her shoulder. "We should be gettin' 'im back t' de Institute. He c'n open his eyes lateh."

"I can't believe he's still alive after that!" gasped Julia's voice.

"Of course he is! I healed from decapitation… hey… I wonder if –"

"Back away from the kid, Wilson!"

"Oh hey there Wolvie! Did you find those fun Assassins I left for you?"

"Open yo' eyes!" Noelle ordered again.

His eyes cracked open the slightest bit and his lips moved soundlessly.

"_Mon dieu_!" her father gasped. "Y' got dis one wrapped around yo' finger, _petite_."

Noelle was sobbing too violently to hear him.

* * *

The day did not end too badly. It turned out that the combined efforts of Vincent, Deadpool, and Wolverine had rid the grounds of the Institute of any and all threatening Assassins. Now there was just a line of well beaten Cajuns tied up waiting for Nick Fury to come and deal with them.

Beast had seen to Belladonna and proclaimed her utterly paralyzed from the waist down and left with limited use of her arms. "A master's work."

Thankfully, Deadpool was not around to hear this, having taken off right after Remy and Lucien had carried Vincent inside. "Bye X-guys! Take care of the untimely ejaculation! Oh! And make sure he doesn't die a virgin!"

Unfortunately, Vincent's other smaller injuries had stopped with their healing as his body focused on his mangled chest. Now his rib cage had repaired himself, his lung and heart were back in action, and pink muscle was spreading over his chest. It was healing quite well… but there was a deep gash on his leg that Beast was worried about.

His worrying had not been improved when Logan walked in, took a sniff around Vincent's still form and said, "Why's the kid smell like cyanide?"

This had not gone over well. Now Vincent was hooked up to half a dozen machines to monitor his heart beat and breathing.

The poison actually didn't seem to be doing much more than making him pant and sweat. Good to know he was immune to poison as well.

Noelle had changed out of her blood-stained dress into loose black exercise capris and an old tank top, and now she had stationed herself beside her boyfriend's bed.

Her father raised an eyebrow at this, but Lucien effectively distracted him by introducing Remy to Sofya.

Rogue was not so easily distracted.

"So," she said, coming to sit beside her daughter. "Is this ya Vincent?"

Noelle nodded tightly. "Dis him."

Rogue looked him over critically. "Not so bad. He good to ya?"

"He jus' jumped in front o' a bullet fo' meh."

"An' ya seem ta be very upset about that."

She swallowed painfully and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Neither spoke for a very long time.

"_Bête fil_. Stupid boy. Stupid, stupid, stupid boy!"

Rogue merely looked up as her daughter began muttering wildly.

"He shoulda known Ah c'n damn well take care o' mahself. He didn' have t' – why'd he do a stupid t'ing lahke dat, Mama? Why?"

Her mother looked at her for a long moment before glancing at the boy in the hospital bed. She smiled ruefully. "Sugah-pie, when a boy's in love with y', there's nothin' y' c'n do about all those damn urges he's gonna get to protect y'."

Noelle wildly shook her head. "Ah don' wan' him to."

"Somehow, sweetie, Ah don't think he's gonna take that into consideration. He cares about ya. He wants ya safe. Ah think it's pretty safe ta say that if he ain't in love with ya already, he's definitely gettin' there."

"He already dere. Ah kin' feel it."

"An' what do ya think?"

"Ah didn' wan' him t' get hurt."

"Ah know, baby. But men are lahke that. They'll put themselves in harm's way just 'cause they think ya need 'em," Rogue nodded sagely.

"An' y' didn' an' dey get hurt bad 'cause dey bein' stupid."

"Firs' rule o' boys, sugah. They all idiots."

Noelle managed a weak giggle.

* * *

Remy LeBeau was less than happy. He had come here ready to look over his two eldest children's significant others, ready to tease his son and ready to beat off Noelle's Assassin.

And instead this day had ended up with him running through the woods, looking for said Assassin to save him from his demented family. He had come across his daughter laying her body over a still, bloody one (protecting the heart, lungs and neck just as she had been taught) while Belladonna charged her.

And the gentleman rules of leaving Bella alone on account that he had killed her brother (even if the other man had started it while drunk) and run out on her (even though it would have been sure death to stay in New Orleans) and married someone else as soon as the annulment had been finalized (even though it was _his_ life, dammit)… all those rules had gone flying out the window and he had reacted.

The rest had been a blur of Bella's madness, then Deadpool's more colorful insanity. Then he had watched as his daughter begged the young man lying dead on the ground, with half his chest missing, begging him to come back to her. 'Vincent' she had called him.

And he had mentally cursed. Noelle was gone. Over the cliff. Caught hook, line, and sinker.

Good Lord.

His little girl was in love with the Assassin sent to kill her.

But the worst had been yet to come.

She had managed to get him breathing again – something Deadpool had praised to no end – and then forced him to open his eyes.

And the look on the boy's face when he opened his eyes made Remy groan. That was the face of a boy deep in love.

_Sacre._

So there had been really nothing else to do but call Lucien and carry the half-dead Assassin back to the Institute.

Well. Seeing as Wolverine had been kind enough not to kill him all those years ago when he had started dating his _chérie_… he would only scare the crap out of the kid. Maybe a Danger Room session – a few well charged cards to put the fear of God and fathers into the boy. And of course, the talk.

The 'Hurt my daughter and there won't be enough left of you to fill a matchbox' talk.

Because nobody hurt Remy LeBeau's girls.

* * *

Rogue hummed quietly to herself as she pulled off her clothes and changed into a T-shirt and boxers.

Even after twenty years, it still shocked her to look down and see her bare skin brushing so easily up against another person's.

Remy was already in bed, staring fiercely at the opposite wall.

"So… weird day," she commented, crawling into bed beside him.

"Hm."

"Uh-oh. Ah know that sound, Remy LeBeau. What're ya thinkin' about?"

"Sofy's a nice girl."

Ah. So that was it – her husband was still worried about Noelle and her choice of boyfriends.

"She is. But she's got a tempeh to her. Good match f'r Lucien."

"Yeah…"

"An' Vincent didn't seem too bad whahle he was lyin' with a hole in his heart."

"Guess we know tomorrow."

"The boy's recoverin' from a wound that'd kill almost anybodeh else, an' he took it f'r our daughter. You, Swamp Rat, are gonna leave that poor boy alone. Ya threatenin' speech c'n wait until he's conscious an' back on his feet."

Her husband gave her his (surprisingly effective) puppy eyes. "Dat mean I c'n still give de _garçon_ mah 'hurt her an' die' speech?"

Rogue laughed. "Sugah, if ya didn' do it, Ah would. Now shut up an' out the lights."

"_Oui_, mon River Rat."

"Oh. An' Remy?"

"_Ouais?"_

"Go easy on' him. Noelle lahkes him."

"_Je sais, chérie. Je sais._"

Pause.

"Not even…"

"No, Swamp Rat, ya cannot blow the boy's shirt off."

"Damn. Y' jus' wan' take all de fun outta dis don'cha?"

"Shut up an' c'mere… Ah still got energy ta burn."

"MMMM… Remy likes de soun' o' dat."

* * *

Ugh…

Ow…

Vincent groaned. He felt like shit. His entire body felt used up and limp, like a deflated balloon. And his chest felt as though a cannon had used him for target practice.

So he lay there and relaxed.

He was lying in a comfortable bed with slightly scratchy sheets.

The med bay… he was in the med bay.

There were voices around him. A deep growl, a deep grumble, a milder chuckle, a soft voice…

Mm.

It was later now… the voices were gone, replaced with the steady beeping and whooshing of hospital machines.

The smell of iodine and that perpetual hospital smell permeated every molecule of his breathing air.

Why did he have to breathe in?

Rubbing alcohol… ick.

Hand sanitizer… yuk.

Something touched his forehead.

Vanilla and spices… mmm.

Magnolias… delicious.

Motor oil… huh?

He blinked.

Noelle sat on the edge of his bed, her hand brushing his bangs out of his face. She was in jean cut-offs and a halter top, and slip on canvas shoes. Her hair was drawn back into a loose ponytail with quite a few strands of auburn hair framing her face in elegant wisps.

For a solid ten seconds, he stared up at her as though she was the Archangel Gabriel about to sweep him up to heaven.

She was alive. She was giving him a serious buzz just by looking at him.

Unaware of the things she was doing just by being there, the young Thief beamed at him. "Vincent –"

He sat up and kissed her. Put her face between his hands, tilted his head and proceeded to kiss her so desperately that he could taste the sugar and coffee on her tongue.

It seemed like the most logical thing to do.

When he finally released her, they parted only several inches away.

Noelle's eyes were still closed, she was flushed, and she was smiling.

This was doing very great things to Vincent's insides and ego until his girlfriend spoke.

"Vincent, dese are mah paren's."

And that's when he noticed the other two people in the room – a man and a woman. The woman looked quite pleased – delighted, even. The man looked like the devil about to tear his head off.

Okay buzz gone.

**And Vincent meets Rogue and Remy!**

**Review!**

_**Bête fil**_** – "Stupid boy"**

_**Sacre.**_** – "Holy fill-in-the-blank"**

_**Je sais, chérie. **__**Je sais.**_** – "I know, darling. I know."**


	67. Chapter 67

**Happy Mardi Gras everybody!**

**And yes, I am still alive. **

**So review and show me your appreciation!**

Chapter 66

Vincent wondered whether they would kill him slowly and torture him, or just blow his head off and get it over with.

"Hello, ya must be Vincent," said the woman, still grinning. She was the older version of Claire: fair skin, heart-shaped face, a slightly smug smile, white streak in her dark auburn hair and grey-green eyes. "Ah'm Noelle's mama. Call meh Rogue."

"Hello," he croaked weakly. "Nice t' meet'cha."

Then he turned his eyes to the silent form of Remy LeBeau. "Hello, sir."

"So yo' Vincent."

Vincent considered the merits of getting down on his knees and begging for his life. "_Oui_, I am. 'S nice t' meet'cha, _Monsieur_ LeBeau."

He very much wished he wasn't trapped in this hospital bed – but then… most people wouldn't attack someone lying in a hospital bed. Right? "Um… wha' happened?"

Noelle perched herself on the edge of his bed and shrugged. "Where d'y' wan' meh t' start?"

A brief pause. "How 'bout… wha' day is it?"

She grinned. "Vereh good question. I's Monday. Y' been unconscious fo' two days."

"_Quoi?_" He nearly leapt out of bed. "Two days! Wha' happened t' Belladonna? Where are de rest o' de 'Ssassins? Wha' happened?"

Noelle scowled darkly even as she shoved him back to lie down. "Yo' lovin' mama is wit' General Fury. Ah don' suppose eit'er o' dem're too happy 'bout dat."

"Belladonna an' de rest o' de family were suspects in de killin' o' senator aides a coupla years ago," Gambit added from where he was hovering nearby. "Dey won' be goin' anywhere fo' a while."

The news was comforting. The voice that delivered it was hair-raising. Vincent wondered if the older man would want to kill him in public or private.

"An' Vincent… Deadpool was dere."

Wait. What?

"Who?"

"Deadpool. Y' know… red mask, swords, big mouth? He showed up."

And instantly Vincent forgot all about angry and protective fathers to focus on his own insane paternal unit.

"Wha' happened?"

"He's da one who got y' mama. Paralyzed her from de waist down."

"_Dieu_." The young man cradled his head in his hands.

He had known that someone would need to deal with his mother. Render her incapable of hurting someone ever again – and he had hoped so badly that he wouldn't have to do it. But this… this wasn't what he had wanted at all.

"An' on de subject o' yo' mama…"

The tone of Noelle's voice set off warning bells in his head and he looked at her just in time to get a slap to the face.

"Stupid boy! Wha' de hell'd y' t'ink y' was doin'?"

Anger shot through him like a reassuring wave of fire. "Wha' de hell're y' talkin' 'bout, _fille_?"

"Ah'm talkin' about divin' in front o' me while yo' mama's usin' meh fo' target practice!"

She was – what? Was she insane? How could she be mad about that?

"Y' expected me t' jus' stan' dere an' let her kill y'?"

The Thief tossed her bright hair in fury. "_Bête fil!_ Y' really t'ink Ah'd be dat unprepared?"

She thrust her left arm forward. There was a bandage over it from the middle of her forearm to her elbow. "How could she have even put a scratch on meh wit' dis?"

This unexpected bit of information made Vincent scramble for something else to say. "Well… how was I t' know dat?"

"Did it eveh occur t' y' dat Ah kin damn well take care o' mahself? Did dat cross yo' mahnd de whole tahme y' was being so damn noble?"

He was left utterly without any wind in his sails. "I… didn't wan' y' t' get hurt."

"And on that note Ah think we should cut in," interrupted Noelle's mother, Rogue. "Noelle, stop shoutin' at the poor boy. God knows he's hung up on ya enough without ya tormentin' him even more."

"But Mama –"

Rogue shot her daughter a single look, before turning her attention to Vincent (who had never seen his girlfriend back off so quickly and contritely). "Have ya eaten lunch yet?"

A loud growl from his stomach answered for him.

He flushed.

Noelle and Rogue laughed.

Gambit looked on – was that smile because he was happy or because he was fantasizing about reducing Vincent to ash?

"Well then, we'd best get ya outta heah an' get some food inta ya. Ah happen ta know for a fact that growin' boys are always hungry. Hey Hank! C'mere!"

"What is it, Rogue – Ah! Vincent! You're awake," Beast said as he hurried over. "Well, Mr. Boudreaux, let's see how you're feeling, shall we? Noelle, I'm afraid you'll have to get off of the bed.

"Hmmm…" the doctor was saying five minutes later. "The cyanide is out of your system, your breathing and heartbeat are as strong as ever… though your pulse and blood pressure seem a bit high."

Gee, wonder why? He thought, eyeing Noelle's parents nervously.

"Hm…" Hank seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Why don't you all get started on a late breakfast? I am feeling in the mood for some of those delicious beignets."

Once they had all left him alone, Hank took several vials of blood and gave him a complete physical, before leaving Vincent with a pair of jean shorts and a red T-shirt. The young man set to work trying to figure out a way to get out of this alive and in one piece. He couldn't run away – Noelle would kill him. He couldn't hide – Noelle would find him. And then kill him.

Fighting them was utterly out of the question.

So that left facing them and begging for mercy.

Vincent groaned as he dressed himself. He hated that plan.

But it was all he had.

Damn.

On the bright side, Vincent mused as Hank took yet another bit of his blood to triple check for any trace of cyanide, Noelle's parents might give up and leave if enough time passed.

But no, when he was at last released from the good doctor's clutches and the two walked upstairs to the kitchen, they found Noelle and her parents hard at work.

Vincent found himself sitting at the counter while Noelle and her mother fried eggs and bacon. Across from him was Noelle's father, Remy. Beast had taken one look at the expression on the Cajun mutant's face, poured himself a cup of coffee and hastily made his exit.

It was obvious where Lucien had gotten his looks from – the two could have been twins. Except for one thing: while Lucien had dark brown eyes (with flecks of gold in them, Sofy was always saying), his father had black where the whites of his eyes should have been, and red irises. It would have been extremely shocking if Vincent had not been so used to little cat-eyed Graziella.

This explained the complete ease with which Noelle and her siblings had accepted the girl's strange eyes.

"Y' don' look as much like yo' mama as y' used t'."

The unexpected words made him jump a little, but he managed to quickly swing his gaze back to Gambit's – uhhh… Remy's… uhhh… Monsieur LeBeau's?

"Uh… really?"

"I t'ought dat y' would look like _ta mère_ or _ton oncle_ Julian… but y' only got dat family's hair an' eyes."

Vincent grinned sheepishly even as he raised his hand and ran it through the blond mess of hair that he had gotten from his mother's family. "I asked Julie an' Forge t' see if dey could find anyt'in' out 'bout Deadpool. I don' know anyt'in' about him."

"_Il est fou_," Gambit said flatly.

"_Je sais_, I met him before. But he likes me… f' some odd reason."

"I would assume it has somet'in' t' do wit' y' bein' his son. But we gettin' away from what I was wantin' t' ask y'."

"Oh. What is it?"

"D' y' love mah daughter?"

The question was so unexpected that he answered with no hesitation, no thought, and at a complete loss as to why anyone would ask such an obvious question.

"Yes."

And then it sunk in.

He had just told _Le Diable Blanc_ that he was in love with his daughter.

"So do I – no' de same way yo' talkin' 'bout, o' course. An' I hate t' see anyt'in' happen t' her. Her mama wouldn' like dat neither."

Vincent didn't dare lift his eyes from the scrubbed wooden table top.

"Y' gon' hurt mah girl?"

"I'd never hurt Noelle."

"Look at me, _garçon_. Y' gon' hurt mah girl?"

Vincent shifted unhappily, but raised his eyes to those of Remy's. The older man's eyes bored into him like drills.

"I…" his eyes wandered to where Noelle was standing.

She was whipping eggs, flour, and a handful of other ingredients into a fluffy dough. There was a dab of flour on her cheek.

Feeling his gaze on her, she met his eye and winked.

He grinned at her.

"Vincent."

She grinned back.

"Vincent!"

There was a loud pop and suddenly little bits of paper were fluttering around his face. He looked back to Gambit to see the mutant calmly crumpling a napkin in his hand. Even as Vincent watched, a strange sort of energy surged from the man's fingers through to the napkin. The scrap of paper turned a burning sort of magenta.

"Uh… didja say somet'in', _Monsieur_?"

"Y' gon' hurt Noelle?"

"No." He said it flatly, definitively – rudely even.

It took Gambit aback; his eyebrows raised and his mouth opened a bit. For a moment, Vincent thought the Thief Prince was going to attack him… the hand holding the glowing napkin shifted slightly…

But then Gambit laughed, crumpled the napkin and carelessly tossed it over his shoulder where it disintegrated into ash.

"Good t' hear, _garçon_. Now, le's start over. I'm Noelle's _père_. Call me Remy."

They shook hands. Then, quite abruptly, the grip on his hand tightened painfully and Vincent found himself wrenched forwards 'til he was face to face with a truly frightening _Diable_. Gambit was giving him a look of utter silent, straightforward, murderous intent. "An' Vincent? Know dat if y' cross mah girl, I will dream up a nasty, painful, slow, an' permanen' death fo' y'."

On the whole, Vincent thought later, it could have gone much worse.

James twitched.

Lucien swallowed painfully.

Vincent sweated.

Why the discomfort?

Because they were facing down the three scariest women they had ever seen.

Betsy Braddock Worthington had seemed very polite and approving yesterday. Anya Alklaev Rasputin had been a positively Russian-version of Mrs. Cleaver. Rogue LeBeau had been the epitome of Southern grace and hospitality.

Now the three sweet women had transformed themselves into large mother lionesses.

Well… actually, it was only Rogue who looked like a lioness, a hungry, angry, lioness. Betsy resembled more a nasty dragon. Anya was bearing a striking resemblance to a grizzly bear.

"Let's talk." Betsy swept past James like an empress past a hatstand.

"C'mon, boy. We need ta talk." Rogue grabbed Vincent's unresisting arm and marched him over to a very secluded corner.

"Come, Lucien. It is time we discuss the rules of dating my daughter."

James considered the merits of fainting on the spot as Mrs. Worthington stood in front of him, arms behind her like a commando. She really was a stunning woman, long midnight hair with a healthy sheen of purple. Her eyes were glittering amethysts like her daughter's.

She was clad in designer jeans and a tasteful dark gold blouse. She was beautiful, every inch a socialite of the highest class.

He thought of his own mother. Tall, dark-haired, dark blue eyes and red lips… and utterly terrifying.

Instantly, his shoulders straightened. What was he doing?

Wanda Allerdyce was far scarier than Psylocke! He thought about the time he had hidden four kittens in his room only to have them escape while he was at school. His mother had come home from work at the counseling center to find her dining room overflowing with kittens.

He remembered how his mother had gone still and quiet a fraction of second before exploding. He'd been treated to a rant of how unsanitary kittens were, about how dangerous they could be, how his mother hated cats, how his father couldn't pass cats without setting them on fire… yadda, yadda, yadda…

They still had Mary, Mittens, and Bob – Cupcake had 'run away'.

James faced Mrs. Worthington. "Yes, ma'am? Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

Betsy Worthington pointed a single finger at him. "You are not good enough for my daughter."

James couldn't help it. He laughed. He laughed so hard he bent over and had to grab hold of the wall to keep from falling over.

Through his tears of mirth, he noticed Psylocke taking on a worrying shade of purple. But from a young man used to dealing with a semi-insane mother, this was not overly frightening.

"And what, may I ask, is so funny?"

"That you think I think I am actually worthy of Monica. Have you bloody seen her? The girl's an angel and I'm… not. But she likes me and I like her, why shouldn't we be dating?"

"If you hurt her…" a violet energy sword grew in her hand.

James clenched his fists. He wondered if Monica would be overly angry if he set her mother's clothes on fire.

"If you hurt my baby… I will… have you heard of the death of a thousand cuts?"

"No… but I have a pretty good idea what it entails, ma'am. I must also point out, ma'am, that you're not the only mother in this world."

"And what do you mean by that, James?"

"Me mum is rather fond me, as I'm sure you can imagine, and trust me, you do not want my mother as an enemy." James shuddered a bit.

"Your mother raised you?" Betsy demanded.

"My dad deserves an honorable mention, I think," he muttered.

"Who is your mother?"

"Your husband didn't tell you?"

"Just that your father was a arsonist with a gift for fire art."

"Me mum is a legally insane sociopath, but she is a damn good mother." He puffed out his chest. "She taught me how to make Molotov cocktails when I was four. Then she threatened to cut my fingers off if I ever made them without her or Dad's supervision."

"Was she a good mother?"

James scowled. "Of course!"

Psylocke eyed him coolly. "You are allowed to date my daughter, I trust your mother and father raised you right."

"Um… thank you?"

"Don't thank me. Thank your parents – I'm trusting them… not you."

Anya Alklaev was a slender figure of a woman. Tall, with curly black hair held up in a shiny yellow comb. She had a lovely, fine-boned face, with clear grey eyes.

She was a beauty – quite obviously Sofya's mother.

Lucien tucked his hands into his pockets and politely gave her his undivided attention.

She spoke first. "I met your parents."

"_Oui_. _Ma mère_ tol' meh."

"Your mother is very kind and nice... your father is quite the charmer."

"Most women t'ink so."

"What does your mother think about this?"

Lucien smiled for a long moment, looking up at the ceiling. "Y' know how a dog'll be friendly an' go up t' everybodeh an' sniff an' lick? Jus' bein' friendly? But when his mistress calls him y' c'n bet y'r ass he's gon' come runnin'. Mah daddy might look an' he might tease, but he don' touch. He's faithful t' mah mama."

"Will you be faithful to my daughter?"

"Yes."

"Will you break her heart?"

"Ah will do everyt'in' in mah power t' keep her safe. Ah… Sofy means a lot t' me."

Anya nodded twice. "You are leaving for college soon. What do you plan to do about that?"

He winced. Being a couple thousand miles away from Sofy was not something he wanted to talk about – especially not with her mother.

"We ain' discussed dat too much. Ah guess… Ah see what she wan's t' do."

"What is it that you would like to do?"

"Ah'd wait. Wait 'til we was bot' done wit' college, but dat's a long tahme t' ask any girl t' wait. 'Specially a girl lahke Sofy."

Anya looked at him. There was a moment of silence.

Then: "I suppose you will do."

Well, that was as good as he could have hoped for.

Rogue LeBeau was quite a sight to see. She was in blue jeans, cowboy boots, a green plaid button-up shirt with a white tank top underneath, and a thick belt with an X buckle. Her hair was a mess of long dark auburn curls and streaks of white framing her face. Fair skin and large grey-green eyes that held a shade more of green than of grey… she was an undeniably beautiful woman.

Darker than his mother… there was something more… wild… fierce… noble… but not like his mother… his mother was more like a cobra… Rogue was more of a… tiger. Yes, a tiger. Slick, elegant, more than a little dangerous, and fully capable of tearing you to pieces.

And only tigers could look down on you with such ease.

Vincent tried not to cower. This was entirely different from being cornered by his mother – this was the Rogue. This was the woman who had raised Noelle and her siblings, who terrified the most hardened of his family…

And he had no idea what her tells were.

She led them into the rec room where the Worthington boys, Warren (IV) and Edward, were playing pool with Alexei and Vassily.

"Ah need the room, boys. Beat it."

"Yes, ma'am!"

In less than five seconds, he and she were alone in the room.

"Sit."

"But –"

"Now."

It was like being with Noelle when she was pissed off, except Rogue just looked grim and stern. All you could do was obey.

So he sat on one of the stools in front of the card table.

Rogue leaned against the table and looked at him. Even sitting down on the stool he was taller than her, but the way she was looking at him with those eyes she had passed on to her daughters, he might as well have been six inches tall.

"Y' made mah baby cry, Vincent Boudreaux, an' Ah don' lahke it when any o' mah babies cry."

"Noelle? Noelle was crying?" Had he ever seen Noelle cry? Was Noelle even able to cry?

"Yes. Turns out most girls' ain't too happy when their boyfriends get themselves shot."

"But-but… I didn' know! I t'ought dat –"

"Ah know what ya thought. But ya nearly got yaself killed an' she didn't lahke that," Rogue said, glaring at him.

"I only meant t' look after her, Madame, I swear. I never meant t' hurt her – da's why I got 'tween her an' de bullet…"

Rogue opened her mouth, probably to rip into him, but was abruptly cut off when Logan opened the door and said, "That Principal Kelly is dead."

Dinner was a rather subdued affair.

The entire town of Bayville had been utterly convinced that mutant population had had something to do with the not so honored school official's death, but when a pair of stern looking men in crisp looking suits and matching ties and sunglasses released a curt statement that Principal Edward Kelly had been killed by a lethal injection that had triggered a heart attack, you couldn't help but believe them. According to the pathologist, the toxin had turned the man's heart into a time bomb and killed him ten hours later. Long enough to get home, put his pajamas on and sit down watching ESPN with a beer in hand.

Chock up one more murder at the hands of the Assassin's Guild.

The visiting parents had whipped up a delicious meal, including roast beef, beef stew and grilled flounder, but the food could not totally rid the students of their deep sadness. Someone that they had known was dead – and whether or not they had liked him – and it was still very disconcerting to know that a person they were used to always seeing was now gone forever.

It ended up being Remy and Rogue who inadvertently changed the mood.

"Even dead the man's causin' us problems," Rogue muttered sourly, helping to gather up the dirty dishes.

"Ah, _chérie_," her husband scolded lightly as he reached out and snagged her around the waist. "It ain' nice t' speak ill o' de dead."

"Oh come on!" Claire shrieked, burying her face in her brother's back to get away from this horrific sight.

"_Quoi_?" Gambit asked lightly. "Y' should know, _petite chérie_, dat dis is wha' led t' y' birth."

"_Trop d'info_!" Lucien said very loudly.

"Get a room, alreadeh!" Noelle moaned.

At the almost unheard of sight of the three young X-Men Thieves going red as their parents quite casually made out against the dining room table, the rest of the Xavier student body burst into hysterical laughter and the somber atmosphere was broken.

**Yeah... this happens to me all the time. You'd think that parents would have more control as they got older... apparently even forty-five plus years don't change you from being a hormonal teenager.**

_**Dieu**_**. – "God."**

_**Fille **_**– ****"Girl"**

_**Bête fil!**_** – "Stupid boy!"**

_**ta mère**_** – ****"Your mother"**

_**ton oncle**_** – ****"your uncle"**

_**Il est fou**_** – "He is crazy"**

_**Je sais – **_**"I know"**

_**Le Diable Blanc**_** – "The White Devil"**

_**Garçon**_** – ****"boy"**

_**Trop d'info**_** – slang for "Too much information"**


	68. Chapter 68

**Almost the last chapter…**

**Bit of a time for tying up loose ends.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 67

Vincent sat on the roof, staring out across the treetops, towards the sea. It gleamed and sparkled in the afternoon sun.

It had been decided that he could stay at the Institute for the summer if he wanted or travel if he had the money. As it turned out, one of his second cousins (Antoine, the one who had taught him how to change a tire) had left him a very tidy sum in his will. It was more than enough for college if he ever decided to go… but for the moment, his entire future looked hazy.

He was exiled from his family.

From his city.

His home.

He looked forward to going back – Mr. LeBeau had been able to go back after a few years, after all – but that wouldn't be for some time.

So for now, his summer looked quite blank.

He didn't think he could handle a summer alone in the house with only the handful of Institute charges who had nowhere else to go… Vincent couldn't be counted as one of them because at the age of eighteen he could legally go where he wanted.

Except to where he most wanted.

Back to New Orleans with Noelle.

Noelle who was downstairs packing even as he sat here.

She was going back to _la ville_ while he was stuck here, hiding from the smoking guns and poised knives of his family.

He sighed yet again and scrubbed his hands through his hair.

To add to his list of grievances was the folded bit of paper in his pocket. This morning over breakfast, Forge, Sage, and Julie had burst into the kitchen – well, Forge and Julie burst – and handed him the file on a Wade Winston Wilson, aka Deadpool.

Apparently, his father was allegedly Canadian – what was it with SHIELD experiments and Canadians? – and had served in the Armed Forces as a _classified… classified_… He was approximately fifty-something years old and had once had an ex-wife.

There were pictures too. One of Deadpool in all his red masked glory, swinging swords like a maniac. The grainy photo of a young man running in exercise gear around a track. A blurry picture of the same man shooting a rifle at a hole-ridden target (mostly around the heart, the head, and few centered around the crotch).

But it was the last two photos that had truly struck him. One was the military photo for Wilson and the other was a mug shot.

The young man, obviously untouched by any sort of disfiguring procedure, could have been his brother… or father.

They had the same nose – though Wilson's looked as though it had been broken once or twice – and chin. The same forehead. Vincent's face wasn't quite as narrow and his eyes were bigger, but still. The man had blonde-brown hair, brown eyes and he grinned out of his mug shot with a disturbingly familiar grin.

That was his grin. His mouth.

The only real differences were the coloring. Vincent's blonde hair and blue eyes versus Wilson's dirty blond and brown.

Their heights matched up almost perfectly, as did their weights.

It seemed, he thought sardonically to himself, that he took very heavily after his father. And though, considering his mother, this wasn't a bad thing, it was still staggering to see… his father.

Belladonna had shown him pictures of Lazare Mercier, the man she had claimed was his father, and the man was as dark as the stereotypical Italian: olive skin and black eyes. Even now, Vincent couldn't believe he had bought that story… the whole: "y' took after my side o' de _famille_" spiel he had swallowed for eighteen years.

Unable to resist, he plunged his hand into his pocket and dragged out the printout of the mug shot and stared at the face looking out at him, completely oblivious to what it would become.

He sighed.

"Uh-oh, Ah know dat tone."

Vincent couldn't stop his lips from quirking upwards and turning to see Noelle striding towards him in jean cut offs and a bikini top. She walked barefooted along the rooftop as easily as though she were walking on the ground.

"OO… he's cute." Her eyes had landed on the mug shot. "Who's de jailbird?"

"Y' a fine one t' be talkin' 'bout jailbirds."

She scowled even as she sat down beside him. "Vincent Boudreaux! Ah have never in mah lahfe been a jailbird!" She rearranged herself haughtily and shot him a sideways glance. "Y' gotta get caught t' be a jailbird."

The Assassin burst out laughing. "Y' are surely somet'in' else, _chérie_!"

"Did y' ever doubt it? So… who is he?"

"Deadpool. Pre… whatever de hell it was dat turned him into Deadpool."

Noelle angled the photo towards herself. "Y' look jus' lahke him… Wha's his name?"

"Wade Winston Wilson."

She made a face. "Ugh! No wonder he wan'ed y' t' have a cool name! De onleh part o' dat name dat don' make meh wanna hurl is Wilson."

Vincent grinned. "I t'ought de same t'ing… Maybe I take on de las' name."

"Vincent Julian Wilson. Soun's weird."

"Den I guess I stick it in de middle an' keep m' las' name. I'm better at bein' Vincent Boudreaux – whoever de hell dat is."

"Who is Vincent Boudreaux?" Noelle mused. "He's a pain in mah ass is what he is."

"Really?" He traced a pattern on the bare skin of her back.

"Really… t'ough he is slowly redeemin' himself." She inhaled rather sharply as he dragged his finger down the middle of her back.

"Whoever de hell he is, he sho' likes de way y' skin feels."

"Get it from mah mama. Or so _mon père_ says."

Vincent spread his fingers out across the small of her back.

"Y've stopped wallowin' at least, da's good."

"I wasn' wallowin'!"

Noelle glanced at him through her thick bangs. "Wallowin' is described as devotin' y'self entirely t' somet'in'. In ot'er words: angstin'."

"Oh." He paused for a long moment, considering. "Well, in dat case I am wallowin'."

"Y'_ were_ wallowin'."

"Den what're we doin' now?" he asked, burying his face into her neck.

"Havin' an entirely pointless conversation – but wha' de hell? I' builds character. Here's a question fo' y'. What're y' gonna do dis summer?"

Yup… that effectively killed the mood. The young man drew back and ran a hand through his hair. "Y' jus' had t' ask. _Bon_, well, I don' know."

Noelle shrugged at him with an all too innocent expression.

"Wha'd y' do, _femme_?"

"Ain' none o' yo' concern, _mon amour_. Now come an' enjoy de party."

Vincent blinked. "Party? Wha' party?"

"Come an' see."

It was a pool party. And barbeque – if you could call the herd of adult male parents arguing over the grill on how to properly prepare burgers a barbeque. In the end, Logan did all the burger and steak flipping required.

The last party of the year until everyone came back in the fall for school again.

He felt an odd kind of pang at the realization that Alexei, Lucien and Eddie would be leaving them next year for college. He felt a stronger pang at the reminder that Charlie Summers would _not_ be leaving them.

This put him closer to college – him, who a year ago had never set foot inside a real school.

College – assuming he could even get in.

"Surprise attack!"

"Wha' da –"

Too late.

James and Vassily nailed Vincent solidly as he strolled along the edge of the pool. The Assassin went crashing into the water with gigantic splash.

He surfaced, coughing and sputtering, only to come face to face with a now thoroughly soaked Sofy and Monica.

Both of whom had dangerously sweet smiles on their faces.

"Do you know what this means, Sofy?" Monica asked her friend cordially.

"Do tell, Monica," Sofy replied politely.

"WAR!"

Instantly the water was full of screeching and flailing teenagers and water was flung everywhere.

Vincent found himself shoved back against the side of the pool as Alexei went bulling through, whooping like a wild man. On one side came James, his burning orange hair plastered against his face as he laughed. On the other was Sofy, black hair a soaked and tangled mess down her fair back.

Across the pool were Julia, Jayden and Monica. All soaked and all laughing.

Looking around, he spotted the lean figure of Noelle lying lazily on a beach chair beside her mother. The infamous Rogue was dressed in white capris and a pale yellow tank top.

Noelle had been right – her mother was very beautiful.

But still, it was the daughter who held his eye in her green and white bikini.

A wicked idea forming in his mind, the young man braced his arms on the edge of the pool and lifted himself out.

* * *

Noelle wasn't lazy very often, but when she was she damn well didn't do it half way. She fully intended to spend the rest of the afternoon lying here in the sun, baking and doing nothing but turning over every fifteen minutes.

"Y' gon' get as dark as an Indian, sugah," her mother commented from behind her dark sunglasses.

"An' yo' gon' burn lahke a lobster, _Maman_!" she laughed back.

Rogue held up a graceful, pale arm. "SPF 75. Ah swear bah it."

Claire joined them, dressed in her lightest long-sleeved shirt and pants.

"Hey honey-bun, c'mere."

The three LeBeau women lay there for several minutes, watching the others horseplay in the water. Rogue was the first to notice Claire's longing look.

"Ya wanna be out there, don't 'cha?"

Claire nodded. "Tell meh how y' got control, _Maman_."

"Honey-bun, ya must've heard this story a hundred tahmes."

"Now, now, _Maman_, she has onleh heard it a hundred tahmes. Ah've heard it at least a t'ousand. I's onleh fair, afteh all."

"Alrahght, alrahght… well…"

Noelle let the familiar, old story fade away into the background as she basked away contentedly.

After a while, a shadow fell over her. She opened her eyes to see Vincent standing over her, facing her mother.

"Bonjour, madam," the Assassin Prince said courteously. So courteously, you'd think he was dressed in a coat and tie and not sopping wet in his swimming trunks. "May I borrow yo' oldest daughter, fo' a momen'?"

Rogue cocked an eyebrow at him. "If ya' can get her up."

"Oh, I don' t'ink dat'll be a problem."

"Oh?"

Vincent swept Noelle up in his arms, turned and ran for the water.

"Don' you dare, Vincent Boudreaux!"

He paused for just a moment before leaping into the water anyway.

The water was ice on her skin for a few moments before she quickly became acclimated to it, and by the time they surfaced, Noelle still firmly held to Vincent's chest, she was perfectly comfortable.

The same could not be said for her boyfriend as she cracked him in the sternum with her elbow. Abruptly she found herself free and cleaving the water smoothly to get to the edge of the pool.

She was about to climb out when a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back in.

"Vincent!"

Down they went again.

* * *

Vincent stared at Logan and the Professor for a very long moment. "Come again?"

"Japan," the Professor repeated easily. "It would be a very great opportunity for you, Vincent. Logan has agreed to include you in his… trip to old friends."

"And they just keep getting older," Logan grumbled to himself. "Look Knife, your dad… I've known him for a while – damn maniac just won't die – and me and the Prof here think it's a good idea to get you some more training with sword technique and fast. I don't think Deadpool'd seriously try and kill you unless you made the first move, but I've been wrong before and I want you to be ready."

"Didn' know y' cared," he muttered.

A vein throbbed in Wolverine's forehead. "Look kid, it's a simple question. You comin' or what?"

"How long I got t' decide?"

"Tomorrow at noon."

Vincent considered. "Gimmee me a minute, _s'il vous plait_."

He hurried away from the Institute's patio and down toward the open tables where everyone was lounging about, digesting a hearty meal of ribs, burgers, potato salad, baked beans and all other barbeque essentials.

Noelle was leisurely playing a game of Egyptian ratscrew with her siblings while her parents looked on.

"Noelle?"

"Try an' t'row meh in de pool again an' Ah punch yo' heart out."

He grinned. "It'd grow back."

She glanced up at him playfully. "Not anytime soon."

Their opening pleasantries thus finished, he jumped straight to the point. "Wha's dis 'bout Japan?"

Noelle gathered her cards, neatened them up and handed them to her father. "Take oveh fo' meh, Daddy?"

Mr. LeBeau removed his wife from a rather… suggestive position on his lap ("_Désole, chérie_.") and took up his daughter's position.

"No fair!" Claire complained. "Why couldn' y've given dem t' _Maman_?"

Their father rapped her lightly over the head with his cards. "Life ain' fair, _petite_. Now get ready t' get killed."

"We take cards very seriousleh," Noelle told Vincent as an aside before finding a relatively private spot to use for launching into the Japan topic. "Logan was goin' on an' on 'bout feelin' cramped in de Institute, blah, blah, blah… y' know how he is. An' Ah mahght have brought it up dat Japan'd be a good place t' get y' ass in shape if Deadpool eveh wan'ed t' try killin' y' again."

She shrugged. "End o' story."

He stared at her. "I don' whether t' strangle y' o' kiss y' senseless."

"I t'ink i's possible t' do both actually. Sahdes, ain' lahke Ah said dey should make y' go. Bah de tahme Ah said Japan, Logan'd already made up his mahnd t' go. Misses de sushi apparentleh."

Vincent scowled at her. "Y' tryin' t' control me?"

"Oh get y' head screwed on rahght," she snapped. "I' was jus' a suggestion – take it o' don'. Y' were jus' spendin' so much tahme whinin' 'bout bein' stuck here Ah figured Ah'd give y' an option."

Tossing her damp hair, Noelle turned to leave.

And stopped abruptly. "Did y' hear dat?"

The Assassin turned his head a bit, and immediately caught the sounds of… what _was_ that?

The two exchanged glances and quickly began closing in on the strange sounds.

They really should be trying to get one of the teachers, Vincent reflected blandly to himself. But it was the last day and… really, how could things get any wor- Damn it! Why was he tempting fate? Hadn't he learned anything about mutant luck by now?

Noelle caught his eye and motioned to a thatch of brush. It was over there.

He nodded, pointed to her head and cocked his head quizzically. Was she feeling anything?

She frowned, her brow wrinkling slightly, then blanched.

Oh shit. That couldn't be good.

Vincent tore through the underbrush.

And came upon the utterly naked couple of Lucas Bishop and Tessa lying in the dirt, having very enthusiastic, but surprisingly quiet, sex against a tree.

The worst part?

The two lovers hadn't even noticed him.

Of course, if he had been doing _that_ to a woman he certainly wouldn't have the brain functions for anything –

A hand slapped itself over his mouth and he found himself being dragged away by a very red Noelle.

_Come on!_ She mouthed.

The two bolted, running even faster when Sage's very breathy voice said "What was that?".

They didn't stop running until they reached the Institute.

"Oh. Mah. Lord!" Noelle's voice climbed in pitch and volume at every word as she crumpled down onto the stairs inside the house.

Vincent was busy digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying fruitlessly to scrub the image out of his brain. "Dat's it. Dis house has officially killed m' sanity."

"Ah don' eveh, eveh, _eveh_, wanna see dat again."

"I agree, _chère_." He sat down heavily besides her and the two lounged there.

"Well," Noelle said at last. "At least we got blackmail an' a horror story t' tell _la petite_ when she's born."

"She?"

"Y' know…" Noelle made traced a bump in the air over her toned stomach. "De t'ing in Tessa's stomach?"

"I know dat! I mean, how y' know i's gon' be girl?"

She shrugged. "Ah always been able t' tell. Knew Claire was gon' be a girl. Knew when mah cousin Michael was born. Knew wit' Dawnie, too."

"Powers?"

"_Sais pas_. Madame Zirgoue said I got 'de gift'. Mah Tante jus' says Ah'm weird lahke dat. So de family's accepted dat as de general explanation." She thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Anyway. I's gon' be a girl."

"Couldn' dey 'ave waited 'til she was born?"

"Mah paren's tried. Dey wen' wit'out all whahle Mama was carryin' Lucien. Straight afteh he was born dey started again. Unfortunateleh – or fortunateleh – dey wen' a little crazy…" She grinned. "Ah was a bit of a 'whoops'."

Vincent shuddered. "T'anks fo' dat image."

She propped her head on his shoulder. "Ah c'n always go more inta details…"

He jumped up. "Y' know what? I t'ink I better git packin'. Wha' do people wear in Japan?"

"Depends on what anime show y' watchin'."

"Huh?"

"Y' mean y' ain' seen anime? Dragon Ball Z? No? Bleach? Good Lord, boy… Wear jeans. Everybodeh wears jeans. An' remind meh t' introduce y' t' anime when y' get back. Or betteh yet, ask James."

He offered her his hand. "Y' ain' makin' any sense at all. C'mon."

* * *

Noelle grabbed the end of her suitcase and swung it easily up into the trunk of the rented car.

"Easy, _petite_," her father warned. "I's a rental."

"_Je sais, je sais_, Daddy."

Lucien had already carefully stored away his own luggage and was in the process of bidding Sofy a very fond farewell.

"Ah t'ink he's tryin' t' eat her face," Claire commented from where she looked on with Grazi in the backseat.

"Where do they put their noses?" Grazi wondered, staring in fascination.

"Y' c'n fahnd out f' y'selves in 'bout five years," Remy told them even as he cut off their view by closing the back of the SUV.

"Y' so conservative, Daddy. When was yo' firs' kiss again?"

He shot her a look. "Y' way too much like _moi_ f' y' own good."

She kissed him on the cheek. "_Merci,_ Papa."

Without waiting for a reply, she trotted off to find Vincent.

Her boyfriend was zipping up a duffel bag filled with sturdy jeans, T-shirts, tennis shoes, and other essentials.

"Ready t' go?" he asked, dropping the bag at his side.

"Jus' about. Now. T' review. Don' talk t' strangers. Don' talk t' strange girls dat call y' _'kawaii'_ an' God help y' if Ah fahnd out dat y' let some boy call y' dat."

Vincent was trying not to laugh. "Is dere anyone I k'n talk t'?"

"_Mais oui!_ Men hidin' Playboys in pockets an' briefcases, an' little ol' ladies dat pinch y' cheeks."

Vincent lost the battle and burst out laughing. "I had no idea y' were so jealous, _chérie_."

Noelle grinned at him. "Ah ain'. Talk t' who y' please. Kiss who y' please. Sleep wit' who y' please…" She paused, taking the time to give him a dangerous look. "But jus' remembeh… Ah'll be waitin'… an' mah Mama an' Daddy're onleh one phone call away."

"O ye o' little faith. How d' I know dat it ain' gon' be _you_ runnin' round on me?"

She looked at him for a long moment… how to answer that. "Well… de way Ah figure it… Ah cain' break up wit' y' 'cause Ah'm de onleh one who c'n put up wit' y'. An' Ah don' cheat. Not in relationships o' cards. I's a family t'ing."

He made a great show of thinking this over before nodding sharply, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her in for a kiss.

And Lordy what a kiss it was.

Vincent did things to her mouth that she had only ever read about (Claire wasn't the only one with smut books around her room) and made her shiver all over.

When they parted, it was only a few inches away. She could feel his breath on her skin as he murmured, "An' dere's jus' one mo' t'ing. 'Fore I f'get."

He released her then, walked to the small mountain of bags that (judging by the shockingly bright orange and red coloring) belonged to James and pulled out a cylindrical container about two feet long.

"Here."

Noelle arched an eyebrow at him. "Wha's dis?"

The young man grinned at her and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Open it."

Her quick hands easily cracked it open and a very smooth bit of canvas. Well, it was actually more than just a 'bit of canvas'.

It was a large stretch of canvas.

And on it was painted one of the most incredible scenes she had ever seen. And considering how much artwork she had stolen over the last few years, that was truly saying something.

A red dragon with elegant markings of black and gold was soaring upwards to the sky, it scales gleaming like rubies. Just beside it was a sleek falcon, its bronze feathers interspersed with white and silver chevrons.

Around the creatures was a dizzying mixture of open sky and dark forest.

* * *

Vincent shifted uncomfortably… Noelle had been silent for an awfully long time. "Well? Wha's dat look fo'? D'y' like it? 'Cause… it ain' my bes' work o' anyt'in'… an' I c'd make y' anot'er one o'…"

"Vincent?"

"_Ouais_?"

"Shut up."

"Wha'?" he demanded, insulted.

She grinned at him. "I's perfect. T'anks… ah, damn."

"Wha' now?"

Noelle scowled at him even as she delicately rolled up the canvas and tenderly tucked it back into its container. "Y' jus' had t' give meh dis, didn' ya? Y' had t' give somet'in' dis good when I got not'in' t' give ya."

He flushed. "I's a gift. I didn'-"

But she was ignoring him, pulling something gold and familiar off from around her neck. "Here. Take dis."

The necklace?

"But… I cain' –"

"Course y' can." She slung it over his head and straightened it out. "Dere. Now y' realize dis means y' have t' come back now. If y' run off wit' _mon croix_, Ah will fahnd y' an' rip it offa y' neck."

"_Mon dieu_, woman, y' soundin' like Belladonna."

She shuddered. "Don' even joke 'bout somet'in' lahke dat."

"_Petite_, eit'er pack de boy in y' bag o' say goodbye," Noelle's father called from the doorway. "We gotta go."

"_D'accord_, Ah'm comin'!"

While her father watched with a rather pained expression, they got down to the business of saying goodbye… no words were exchanged as they would just get in the way.

At last, they parted and Noelle smiled at him. "See ya later, Vince."

"Bye, Noelle."

And she turned, his painting to her in hand, and walked to her father and the car that would take her away to the airport.

"You ready, Knife?" Logan barked, a duffel bag over either shoulder.

Vincent heaved his bag up. "Yeah."

"Damn it, kid! Stuff's leakin' from your bag and we ain' even left yet!"

The Cajun turned around in confusion. What looked like a bar of soap was lying on the ground by his feet.

Groaning, he bent over and snatched it up. "Uh… dis ain' mine."

"What?"

"Dis C4. Not somet'in' I'd take on a plane."

Wolverine snatched the thing from him, sniffed it all over and cursed impressively. He tore off the paper covering and cursed again. "Take a look, Knife."

It was a note.

"Dear Illegitimate kid,

Have fun on your trip and don't die. I'll be back to play when you get back.

Deadpool

P.S. This letter will self-destruct in twenty seconds. Just kidding… Or am I?"

"Lord… dis guy's a hell of a fruitcake."

"And you're a slice off that fruitcake, kid. Now c'mon, we need to get rid of that thing."

Two days later, a sail boat crew nearly had their ship blown out of the water when one of them accidently caught a small scrap of paper on his fish hook.

Not that Vincent knew any of this, he was racing towards California with Logan to get to the west coast airport that would take them to Japan.

* * *

Professor Xavier neatly folded his hands in his office and smiled.

What a year.

**Almost over. But not quite.**

_**Femme**_** – "woman"**

_**Sais pas**_** – "Dunno"**

_**Je sais, je sais**_**– "I know, I know"**

_**Mais oui!**_** – "Of course!"**


	69. Epilogue

**Hey everybody! Just an epilogue!**

**It doesn't really go with the story, but it does give you a peek into the next story!**

Epilogue

Dawn Summers liked chess pieces. They were fun to play with and it was easy to move them telepathically across the board.

A knock at the Institute's front door distracted her and she ran to see who it was.

Maybe it was a new student.

All of the other students had been invited to accompany the Worthingtons on a trip to Niagara Falls, while Dawn's Daddy had said that she couldn't go away until she was eight years old. So Dawn was very lonely.

Miss Tessa opened the door and revealed a woman.

She was tall and had blond hair that went past her shoulders. Her makeup was blue and silver, making her pale blue eyes stand out. She was dressed all in white, from her shoes to her shirt.

Miss Noelle had told her that angels were always dressed in white with blond hair and blue eyes in old paintings, but Dawn knew that the lady was closer to being a devil than being an angel.

She hated her.

Hated her.

A hot rage filled the small girl even as Miss Tessa said, "Hello Miss Frost, we've been expecting you. Please come in."

Frost. Ice.

Well, that was good.

Because Dawn's hatred felt just like fire.

**Keep an eye out for the sequel "Kestrel"! Coming soon to fanfiction near you!**


End file.
